And Malfoy Caught the Snitch
by CrazyAsACupcake
Summary: When Slytherin wins the first Quidditch match of the season, Hermione Granger decides to congratulate them on the victory, and finds herself caught in the bad weather with Draco Malfoy. After a couple of chance (or not so) meetings between the two of them, Hermione begins to wonder: is the Slytherin Prince so bad after all?
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters mentioned in this story! They belong to J.K. Rowling, I just decided to puppeteer them :) Enjoy! **

Students making their way into the stands jostled Hermione as she stood by the railing, watching the pitch below with a mix of boredom and hopeful anticipation – that is, at Harry catching the Snitch quickly and finishing the game as soon as possible. Today wasn't a good day for a Quidditch match; just before she had made her way outside the skies had opened and fat droplets of rain had begun to shower the grounds. The hair not underneath her woollen hat clung to her skin, and she groaned internally at the thought of having to dry her hair, with the curls becoming more unruly than they normally were. Her cheeks began to burn with the cold, glowing a brilliant red colour to match her nose, which she was rubbing with her red-and-gold gloved hands to try to keep warm. A list of better things to be doing forms in her head: studying, homework, not being soaking wet. But, she has to be there to support her best friends, as it is the first game of the season, against their rivals. She sighs, blowing into her hands before pulling her hat down lower over her ears and tightening her scarf. As much as she's hoping for it to be over soon, deep down in her heart, Hermione knows this won't happen.

A sudden roar rises up over the students – or at least 3 out of the 4 houses – in the stands, and Hermione's attention is suddenly snapped back to the pitch. The Gryffindor team marches out of their changing room, with the famous Harry Potter leading, his Firebolt held with a strong grip in his gloved hand. He grinned at the crowd, giddy and waving at all of his screaming fans. Despite the despicable weather, Harry is quite obviously looking forward to the game. Ron and Ginny Weasley flank him on either side, grinning at each other as though one had just told the other a rather funny joke.

The remaining house picks up the cheers as their own team emerges onto the pitch, clad in emerald green and silver and carrying sleek matching brooms. Urquhart leads them out in a triangle formation, face set. He doesn't bother playing to the crowd, and he doesn't need to, because the boy to his left is doing enough for the whole team. A smirk passes across the boy's pale face as he waves with his left hand, his Nimbus 2001 slung lazily over his shoulder as he struts to the centre of the pitch. With a flick of his head, the white-blond hair moves away from his piercing grey eyes, which are creased at the corners as his smirk turns to a grin, his teeth sparkling even in the cloudy day. Hermione couldn't take her eyes off of the boy – despite her feelings for him being those of hate – he's so mesmerising to watch, completely in his element.

He spins around, gazing at the Gryffindor stands, taunting them with a cheery wave. The Gryffindors around Hermione are quick to boo and hiss at him, and Hermione is about to join in until she realises who the blond boy is looking at. Her cheeks seem to go even redder – if that's even possible – and she watches him throw his head back with a laugh, before he _winks_, and blows a kiss up to her. She stands, frozen, watching him turn back to the pitch to take his place before Madam Hooch. The players mount their brooms and take their places (Hermione takes a minute to stop blowing on her hands to cheer as Ron flies past her towards the goalposts) as Madam Hooch opens the chest containing the four balls. The Bludgers shoot out of their positions into the air, followed closely by the faint zipping of the Snitch as it escapes away from the Seekers. Madam Hooch throws the Quaffle into the air, and just like that the game starts. Chasers of both teams flash past Hermione, tossing the Quaffle from one colour to the other, but Hermione can't keep up due to the rain that's only increasing in violence. A cheer erupts among the crowd, and from the students shouting, Hermione is able to conclude that the Gryffindor team just scored a goal.

She turns her face upwards, shielding her eyes against the rain, to watch the two Seekers circling the pitch as they try to scope the Snitch. A faint buzzing near her right ear makes her turn her head; a slight flash of gold flitters near the corner of the stand. She smiles to herself – it seems this game won't last very long after all.

Malfoy's eyes flicker across the pitch, the pelting rain making him more and more annoyed as he searches for that tiny speck of gold. He glances up, sighing to himself and leaning back on his stirrups, rubbing his gloved hands over his face. They come back soaked from the rain that had been drenching his face and hair. He leans back down, gripping the brooms handle tightly as he takes another sweeping look across the pitch, and stops. _There. _The tiny golden orb hovers near on of the Gryffindor stands. A smirk quickly turns to a grin, and soon he's diving, dropping down towards the pitch at breathtaking speed, and Malfoy felt _free_. His hair whips around his face as he gets closer and closer to the ground, pulling up just at the right time and circling towards the red and gold stand. The Snitch is still there, quickly flashing to and fro across the front row of the stand.

He leans further forward to gain speed, feeling Potter close on his heels. He longs to reach out and kick the broom out from under him, to push him out of the way, to _allow him this victory_. He lifted the handle slightly, rising steadily from the ground until he was almost level with the stands. The Snitch is now beginning to flit above the soaked wild hair and red and gold hat of none other than Hermione Granger. His face sets into a straight line as he lifts the handle more, shooting up towards her. His brow furrows as he looks back, seeing Potter basically riding on the Nimbus 2001 with him. A low growl starts in his throat as he becomes level with the stands, eyes locking with Granger's as she dives backwards. His right arm stretches out, left holding the broom steady, and just before the Snitch is able to soar away…

His fingers brush against it's cold golden body.

His leather-gloved hand wraps around it, grabbing hold of it for dear life.

The Snitch hums in his hand.

He's done it. A grin spreads across his face as he pulls his arm in towards him, hollering at the top of his lungs as the rain pelts him, shouting until his throat goes numb and his voice trails off. He flips the broom, heart pounding with exhilaration as he dives back downwards, back towards the ground. Zacharias Smith makes the announcement – "Draco Malfoy has caught the Snitch! Slytherin wins the first match of the season!" – much to the dismay of the majority of the students watching. No cheers rise up to meet Malfoy as he reaches the ground, jumping off his broom with the biggest smile on his face. He opens his hands to see the golden ball resting there, and raises his face to the sky, allowing the rain to pour down onto him.


	2. Chapter Two

Hermione makes her way down to the Gryffindor changing rooms to congratulate them for the game, despite the loss. She believes that even though they lost the first game, they all played spectacularly, and they could take the loss and use it to improve over the next three games. As she pushes open the changing room door, she's greeted by shouting. She spies Ron in the corner, tearing his Quidditch uniform off and throwing it in a crumpled pile in the corner as he swears to himself, ripping his leather gloves off, chucking them on the floor. Hermione begins to force her way through the crowd that has gathered in the changing room, towards Ron, where she wraps her arms around him – or at least tries to; his shoulders are far too wide, and he is far too tall for her to be able to properly hug him. He shrugs her off, giving her an angry look as he pulled his shirt on. "What, Hermione?" He snaps at her. She glares at him; she wasn't going to let Ronald Weasley of all people talk to her like that, so she pushes him out of the way and goes towards her other best friend.

Harry is admittedly calmer than his ginger counterpart as he carefully folds his Quidditch robes so that 'Potter 07' is facing upwards, before he places them into his bag. He sees Hermione making her way over to him and gives her a slight smile. "Hi, 'Mione." He pulls her into a hug, and she rests her cheek on his shoulder as she feels him deflate. When she pulls away, he runs a hand through his dark hair. "I can't believe we lost," he sighs, pulling his shoes on. "I was _this _close to having it." He holds his index finger and thumb together. "Looks like it wasn't close enough though." He slings his bag over his shoulder as he starts to leave the changing rooms. Hermione hurries beside him, her short legs struggling to keep up with his long strides. Unlike they did for her, the crowd parts like the Red Sea for Harry as he walks past them, most reaching out to pat him on the back and accuse the other team for cheating, which makes Hermione frown. She doesn't like the idea of Slytherin being ahead in the Quidditch cup either, but to be so blind as to accuse them of cheating than just accepting the loss is something completely beyond her. Hermione is far from Malfoy's biggest fan, but she cannot deny that he is an incredible rider and a stellar Quidditch player.

Harry opens the door to the changing rooms and lets Hermione out before him, back into the harsh weather. He starts towards the castle, head bowed in an attempt to battle the rain, then turns towards Hermione when he notices she's not in step beside him anymore (not that she was to begin with). She's looking towards the pitch, towards the opposite changing rooms, then back to her friend. "Harry, I thought you guys played amazing today. Don't let this one loss push you back. There's always going to be other games." She smiles at him, and he returns it.

"I know, 'Mione. And we're going to train harder, faster, and for longer, than we have before just so that we can continue our streak of winning the cup." He jerks his head towards the castle. "You coming?" Hermione shakes her head slightly, her sopping hair heavy.

"I'll be there in a minute." Harry shrugs, pleased with her answer, and heads back to the common room. Hermione walks to the Slytherin changing rooms, not sure what she's doing. She just wants to congratulate them on the win, like a good sport. She will not let every other student put them down just because they can.

When she gets to the door, she hesitates. What is she thinking? They aren't going to react well to a Muggle-born Gryffindor entering the changing room. Maybe it was a mistake to come alone. Maybe it was a mistake to come at _all. _As she stands outside contemplating, she realises that there is no noise coming from inside the changing room, so she tentatively pushes the door open, to be greeted with… complete silence. The changing room is empty. The pegs are bare. It hits Hermione that the reason they were in and out of the room so quick is because nobody showed up to say they were proud of them. Nobody came to say well done.

Nobody cared.

Hermione feels a coldness in her chest as she thinks about how awful that must be – to win something, to try your hardest, and yet still feel like you've lost.

Out of the corner of her eye she notices one of the pegs still has someone's robes on it, and her naturally inquisitive nature takes over. She looks at the clothes neatly folded beside the Slytherin robe, and spies the wand laying on top of the crisp white dress shirt. It's ten inches, made of hawthorn wood, a creamy brown leading to a smooth black handle. _Malfoy._ Hermione starts, looking back around the changing rooms. He's nowhere to be seen, and she lingers by his cloak just for a second, waiting for his return, to congratulate him on the victory. She quickly decides it would be stupid to be caught alone with _Malfoy_, a boy who believes in blood purity; she doubts she'd even be able to stretch her hand out for him to shake before he hexes her.

A sudden crash of thunder shakes the changing rooms, and Hermione shudders, pulling her cardigan closer around her. Taking a final look around, she goes to leave, and notices the door at the back of the room is open. The door to the pitch is swinging in the wind, like it's deciding whether or not it should slam shut. She approaches the door, pulling her still wet hat down over her still wet hair. Outside, the pitch is flooded, the water murky and brown with dredged up mud, and through the downpour, Hermione spots a silhouette of a boy in green and silver, standing with his face upturned towards the sky.

In the ten minutes since the games end, Draco Malfoy had not moved.

Hermione watches him, his hair turned a dark blond colour due to the rain, droplets dripping down his jawline and the tip of his nose. His cheeks are tinged bright red against his pale skin, the emerald green of the uniform transformed into a more forest like colour. He's soaked to the bone, shivering, yet smiling. She's amazed by how calm and innocent he looks stood there, with rain hitting his smooth skin. His brow isn't creased in a frown or sneer, and there are dimples on his cheeks. She stands in the doorway for a few more moments, arms wrapped around herself as she watches him.

A crack of forked lightning flashes across the sky and snaps Hermione out of her thoughts. He's shivering quite badly now, and Hermione runs across the pitch, the ground squelching under her feet, kicking up water and soaking her legs. "Malfoy!" She shouts to him, and his head snaps down, as if he suddenly remembers that he's still stood outside. The moment of calm is broken, and a sneer passes across his features as he glares at her making her way towards him.

"What do you want, Granger?" His hands are shaking as he reaches up to rub his nose, his normal crease reappearing between his brows as he frowns down at her. Her hair is clinging to her face in the rain, her skin glistening as she reaches out and grabs him by the arm, pulling him towards the changing rooms. "What do you think you're _doing_?" He plants his feet firmly into the soaked ground, making her slip as she tries to drag him.

"Malfoy, you're going to catch your death!" Her teeth begin to chatter as the wind picks up and becomes more ferocious. He looks away from her to see the goalposts swaying in the wind, and swallows; the wind must be pretty horrendous if it is able to move those. He yanks his arm out of Hermione's grasp, nearly knocking her off balance, and as much as he would enjoy to see swotty Granger coated in mud, he reaches out and grabs her shoulders to steady her. "Come inside, please!" She's shouting over the wind and he finally decides she's probably right, it isn't good to be stood here in the rain and the cold. She opens her mouth to shout at him again but he silences her by throwing his arms in the air and storming past her.

"Fine, Granger! Whatever you say, just allow me to walk on my bloody own, why don't you?" Another crack of lightning lights up the grey sky as he hurries towards the changing room, Quidditch robes muddy along the bottom. He hears the girl squelching behind him as she sinks into the mud while trying to keep up behind him. When he reaches the room he turns around and sees her caked shoes, and splattered trousers; for a second he contemplates closing the door on her, leaving her out there in the rain – a fleeting smirk crosses his face at the thought – but with a groan he marches back out and grabs her roughly by the wrist, pulling her quickly into the small space before slamming the door. The ghostly wail of the wind can be heard through the thick wood, and Malfoy drops her wrist as though it was a hot coal.

"What do you even want, Granger? Come to accuse me of cheating?" He vigorously rubs his hands through his hair, displacing most of the water, before picking up his wand and casting a hot-air charm. His robes brightened in colour as the hot air dried them; once they were completely dry he turned the wand onto his face and hair, and Hermione saw relief flush over his features as he warmed up slightly. Once his hair was nearly back to its natural white-blond colour, he tosses his wand back onto the bench and turns back to Hermione, running his hands through the soft mop to push his fringe back.

"No, actually I came to say well done today, and I thought you all played brilliantly and-" Before she could continue further, Malfoy turns, pulling his Quidditch robes over his head. Hermione's face turns an incredible shade of tomato red as she stares at his lean pale back, arms muscled from years of Quidditch training, and a bandage wrapped around his left forearm. An odd feeling washes over her, and she longs to reach out and touch his smooth, unblemished skin. He shrugs on the white shirt, long fingers doing up the buttons as he looks over his shoulder at her.

"Yes, Granger?" He quirks his eyebrow at her, and she realises she's stopped speaking, her mouth open and cheeks burning. She shakes her head, snapping her mouth closed, hands fidgeting in front of her.

"Sorry, um… I just thought that I should tell you I thought your catch today was rather impressive, and for that alone, you absolutely deserved the win, so… congratulations on the first win of the season," she pauses, and begins to gnaw on her lip as she debates whether or not to continue or not. She takes in a breath. "Yeah. That's all, I guess."

He nods, grey eyes shadowed as he runs his hand through his hair again. "Well, thanks, Granger." His voice is measured, as if he's waiting for the punchline of a joke. He doesn't know whether he should accept the praise or deny it on the grounds of her wanting to mock him. He unbuttons his trousers and peels them off, his ankles wet as the damp material slips off, revealing his green boxers. As he folds the trousers into his bag, Hermione's eyes trail down his exposed half, noting the fine pale blond hair covering his legs and his knee-high emerald green Quidditch socks. "Well, Granger, if that's all you wanted I think that it's time for you to go back to Potty and Weaselby." He spins around, making Hermione snap her gaze back up to his face as he pulls his black dress trousers on, tucking the shirt in as he zips them up. She doesn't move and he clears his throat. "Granger?"

"Yes, sorry." She blinks, tucking her dripping hair behind her ear as she glanced towards the door; the gale outside batters the small building with a horrific howl. He rolls his eyes at her, picking his wand back up and casting the hot-air charm again. A blast of air hits Hermione and her hair dries almost instantly, bouncing back with more life than normal. She blows a strand out of her face, groaning internally at the thought of having to tame the curls once she gets back to the common room. "Thank you, Malfoy." Her voice comes out smaller than she had intended, and she's not looking at him – she doesn't want to see the crowing in his eyes at the thought of being praised by a lowly Muggle-born such as herself.

He shrugs, dropping the wand and threading his black leather belt through the loops on his trousers before fastening it tight. "It's okay?" He slips his arms into his robes as she starts towards the door; she itches to chew at the skin around her nails to prevent herself from talking more than she should. She has already overstayed her welcome, and she doesn't want to provoke him in anyway. Before she opens the door, she hesitates – her hair is only going to get wet again, so is there any point in going outside? Should she just wait the storm out in the changing rooms? She casts a glance over her shoulder at Malfoy, who is pulling his bag onto his shoulder and tucking his wand into his pocket. If he left it wouldn't be so bad, she could practice her spells, recite her knowledge of Ancient Runes, anything to pass the time while the storm rages until it finally wanes.

A hand appears on the door handle in front of her, long fingers with bitten nails, and her head snaps up to see Malfoy smirking at her. "Well, Granger? Are you going back or not?" She opens her mouth to reply but he cuts her off with a wave of his hand. "I'm leaving, so you're on your own now." He opens the door, gaging the severity of the weather, before sighing and pulling his wand out of his pocket and mumbling a charm, the tip of his wand pointed towards the ceiling. A bluish light emerges from the end of it, forming an umbrella. The cogs in Hermione's mind start twisting as she eyes his wand, a smirk of her own crossing her face. He kicks the door open further with his foot, and exits the small building, with Hermione on his heels.

She squeezes next to him under the 'umbrella' and Malfoy lets out what can only be described as a yelp, stopping in his tracks. The wind whips his hair around his head, as Hermione tucks her loose strands under her hat – or at least she tries to; the hat is blown off her head and she shrieks, reaching for it but it's gone too fast. Malfoy glowers down at her. "What are you doing?" His sneer isn't as intimidating with his fluffy hair blowing in every direction.

"I'm using your umbrella, Malfoy," she smiles sweetly at him, acutely aware of the mud sucking at her shoes. "I just need it until we get back to the castle, then I'll leave you alone." He glares harder, looking between the entrance to the school and where they're stood. He lets out a groan.

"Fine. But that's it, I will not allow you to use me for anything else," he starts off again, setting the pace to a brisk walk, making Hermione have to half-skip to keep up with him. She pulls her cardigan around her, crossing her arms over her chest, before she looks up to his wand – held in his left hand – to see the water sliding off the invisible umbrella. The sleeve of his robe has fallen down slightly, revealing the badly wrapped bandage around his forearm. A thousand questions fly through her head: was he injured during the game? Did he wrap it himself? Should she take him to the hospital wing?

She settles on the most obvious question, clearing her throat. "So, what did you do to your arm?" She watches his face, now, as a look of shock mixed with fear mixed with shame quickly flashes over his features before his normal expression of distaste for Hermione settles over his features.

"What does it matter to you, Granger? Going to tell Potty all about it?"

"No, I'm not, actually. I just thought I would try and be polite – maybe you should try it sometime."

"I…" He hesitates. "I burnt it. That's all. Nothing to interesting to go twittering to your lovers about."

Her face goes cold. "I _beg _your pardon?"

"You heard me."

"How _dare _you even… even _insinuate _such a thing! I have never – would never! – consider Harry or Ron like that!"

"Who knows," Malfoy smirks down at her. "What thoughts run through that brain of yours, Granger?" She's seething beside him, practically vibrating with fury and he lets out a warm laugh that makes Hermione's stomach flutter – she'd never thought Malfoy of all people could have such a nice laugh. "You can't say you've never thought about _either _of them like that?"

"Of course I haven't!" Her voice hitches up an octave or ten as she flusters to redeem herself – though she doesn't know why exactly she cares what Malfoy thinks about her. "Ronald is… well, Ronald. And Harry is too much like a brother for me to even consider him in that sort of way." She regards him from the side of her eyes. "None of this would ever reach their ears anyway; if Harry so much as thought I'd been anywhere near you he'd -"

"He'd what?" Malfoy stops and turns towards her. "Hex me? Punch me? Report me to his special Professor Dumbledore?" He barks out a cold laugh, nothing at all like the one from before. "Get a grip, Granger. He can't touch me, not now that…" He trails off, aware that he might have said too much, and he hopes she'll ignore it.

But Hermione Jean Granger doesn't miss a thing.

"Now that what, Malfoy?" Her brow creases inquisitively as she watches him, and he sees her eyes flicker to the bandage on his arm.

"None of your business, Granger." He leans down to her height, getting right in her face as he glares at her. "Why can't you keep your bloody nose out of anything?"

"Maybe if you didn't do things that required me to, then I wouldn't," she snaps back at him, hands clenched into fists beside her as she stares defiantly at him. He scoffs, beginning to walk at a leisurely stroll as thunder rolls across the sky.

"Maybe you're too tightly wound, Granger," he smirks as she squishes around beside him, shoes slipping and struggling to grip on the muddy ground. "Maybe it'd do you some good to think about Potty – in _that _way." He wiggles his eyebrows down at her, and she lets out a disgusted gasp, shoving him by the shoulder. He laughs, that amazing warm laugh, and Hermione feels her stomach glowing again. In the back of her mind she wonders what it would be like to hear that laugh every day, to be the one to make him laugh like that. "Come on, Granger! Live a little!"

"I live a perfectly normal amount, thank you very much."

"Studying and homework and the occasional thwarting of the occasional Dark Lord is not living!"

"I don't just study and do homework! I walk by the lake, I sing, I -" She stops, staring at Malfoy. He keeps walking, unaware she's not beside him, and her hair quickly soaks in the ongoing downpour. "Malfoy, why did you call him that?"

"Call who what?" He casts a glance over his shoulder, moving back towards her when he sees her stood there like a drowned rat.

"Why did you call him," her voice drops to a whisper, "the Dark Lord?"

He smirks at her. "Are you afraid, Granger? Of a name?" She swallows, eyes flickering away from his face. There is something burning behind his grey eyes, and even though Malfoy had been bad in their previous years, he'd never been like this. This was something worse. He leans closer to her. "Are you afraid of _me_?"

"I'm not scared of you, Malfoy." She takes a step back, contradicting herself. He smiles, teeth bared like a wolf.

"Are you sure?" He steps towards her and she instinctively moves back. Something flashes across his face – could it be hurt? – but it quickly changes to his menacing grin. "Are you _absolutely sure_?" She nods, though her eyes are wide and her bottom lip looks like its about to start trembling. "What if I did _this_?" He makes a sudden lurch forward, reaching out to her as she stumbles backwards. He makes a demonic screeching noise, hands curled into claws. His fingers almost snag on her hair before she turns, nearly tripping over herself as she runs up the hill away from him.

Her heart is pounding and there are tears in her eyes by the time she reaches the giant doors of the castle, and she looks back to where he's still stood in the centre of the field. He's doubled over, laughing at her, clutching his side as he flings his head back. A smile stretches from ear to ear and his eyes shimmer with mirth. The warm, hearty laughter reaches her ears and she scowls, not nearly as entranced as she had been before his little stunt. With a growl of annoyance, she shoves her shoulder against the door, entering quickly and finally escaping the weather.

Malfoy smirks at the closing door as he begins a slow saunter to the building. It's always fun to mess with Hermione Granger; to see her seething in anger (and occasionally fear) was one of the things he looked forward to most in a day. He entered the building some minutes later, and spies the wet, muddy footsteps the girl had left in her wake as she'd (presumably) stormed off to the comfort and warmth of the Gryffindor common room. He chuckles to himself, the blue light evaporating from the end of his wand as he places it back into his pocket. He was sure the memory her terrified look was going to give him entertainment to last until Christmas, yet he couldn't seem to conjure it in his mind as he strolls through the corridors to the dungeons.

He reaches the entrance to the common room and frowns. Granger is an annoying snot, and he hates her more than words can express.

So how come the only image coming to his mind is the one of Hermione Granger smiling up at him?


	3. Chapter Three

The day after the Quidditch match, Hermione makes her way to the back of the library at 10 o'clock exactly. She drops her bag onto the table and makes her way through the shelves, taking multiple heavy leather-bound volumes to her little corner. For the next ten minutes, she busies herself getting ready for a long day of homework and studying, pulling rolls of parchment from her bag along with her favourite quill (and back-up quill) and her inkwell. At half past, a slow trickle of first and second years begin to enter the library and start their scrawled, panicked homework, leaving it to the last minute. At quarter to 11, the upperclassmen start doing the same thing. Hermione is calm and methodical in her work, making page after page of notes on Charms and Potions. She completes her 3 foot long essay on nonverbal spells just before the clock strikes 12, so Hermione treats herself to a 15 minute break. She takes a drink of water out of her (Muggle) water bottle – a 12th birthday present from her parents, with her name printed across the side in red – and enjoys some 'light reading' on archaic magic and it's downfall ('light' meaning 400-500 pages. At 12:30 she realises she's let herself become too engrossed, and begins her at-least-three-feet long Herbology essay. She smiles to herself.

There is nothing better than a day in the library.

Draco Malfoy enters the library at 12:37 exactly. His bag is slung loosely over his shoulder as he wanders aimlessly through the aisles. Almost every seat is taken, with groups of children giggling amongst themselves, or upperclassmen who despise him and whisper under their breath as he walks past them, head held high with a glare that could kill directed at anyone who so much as glanced at him. He passes multiple couples between the stacks, kissing (and sometimes worse) but he makes no scene of it. With a grumble to himself, he hits the end of the library, and turns to look at all of the tables, debating each one in turn. In the corner, he spots the perfect place – a table with only on other person; the alcove was nearly completely hidden from view, making it the ideal place for someone who wanted to escape from the world for a bit. He makes his way through the shelves towards it, remarking on the number of thick tomes spread across the table in front of the person, a ponytail keeping the majority of their brown curls out of their face as they are bent over their work. As he steps up to the table, his mood darkens as he realises that it is the one and only Hermione Granger.

He drops his chin to his chest with an audible groan – was she really the only option? Was there nowhere else he'd possibly be able to sit? He considers his options; he could sit with the fourth year Ravenclaws near the Magical Creatures section, as he knew they wouldn't disturb their own study for him. Or he could sit with the first year Slytherins and teach them his ways of wickedness (not that he was actually wicked, or at least he liked to think he wasn't).

Her head snaps up and she stares at him – or _through _him – for a moment before speaking, almost as if her eyes needed to auto-focus before she was able to actually see him. "Malfoy?" Her voice comes out as shocked, or even pleasantly surprised, not disgusted as he thought she was going to react. He doesn't move, he only looks at her. Hundreds of freckles trail across her pale skin, her brown eyes wide and framed with long, thick lashes. Her lips are a bright shade of red, which he guesses is from her chewing on them so often, and for some strange reason, he longs to lean down and kiss her – like those other couples were doing; a longing to lift her with her legs around his waist, for them to stay like that, with her, forever. "Malfoy? Are you okay?"

He shakes his head slightly, the (crazy) thought evaporating. "Of course I am, Granger." He throws his bag onto the table, and Hermione snatches an open book out of the way, stroking the pages as though he'd hurt it in some way. "Just here to do a bit of light studying. I can see you've already started." A tinge of red creeps its way up Hermione's neck and to her cheeks as he pulls out the chair across from her, slumping into it.

"And… and you're going to do that here?" Her eyes flicker around the library as she looks for Blaise Zabini or Theodore Nott, another Slytherin about to pop out from behind the shelves to laugh at her, or worse – for Ron and Harry to walk in and see her _fraternising _with the enemy.

"Is that a problem, Granger?" He leans forward and pulls one of her books on Transfiguration towards him, flipping it open before pulling out a roll of parchment and a quill. He rifles in his bag for a moment, cursing, and standing from his chair to scan the library. "Do you know if they give out ink here?" She silently pushes her own inkwell into the middle of the table, clearing her throat to make him look at her.

Grey eyes meet brown and her cheeks only heat up more.

"You can share mine, if you'd like," she swallows as he regards her for a moment, before slowly sitting back down and pulling his chair under the table.

"Thanks," his hair has fallen in front of his eyes and she wishes she could reach out to brush it out of the way, to feel the downy softness between her fingers. He starts writing, his left arm laying across the table, fingers flexing every so often. She finds herself paused, unable to continue her work as she watches him "Go back to your work, Granger." His voice doesn't come out as harsh as he wanted it to; it comes out as a calming suggestion, but she takes the hint regardless and bends her head back down to continue with her essay. She completes it rather quickly (4 feet, just to be on the safe side) and places it carefully back int her bag. When she sits back up, she's amazed by how serene he looks in his concentrated state; his mouth straight, eyes bright and aware. She watches his quill scratch across the paper, his handwriting a flowing cursive, small yet readable.

He clenches the fingers of his left hand into a fist again, and her attention is drawn to it. The sleeve of his robe has rode up to his elbow, once again revealing the bandage, crisp and white, and still badly wrapped. She frowns at how clean it is – surely it would be dirtier if it was for a burn or a scratch?

He rubs his nose with his writing hand and she notices how the ink has stained his fingers. His eyes flicker up to her. "You okay?" He sounds vaguely concerned, which is surprising even to himself. She nods, not taking her eyes off his arm. He glances towards it, then yanks the sleeve of his robe down over the bandage. "Remember what I said, Granger: keep your nose out of things that don't involve you." It isn't a threat, more like a warning, and Hermione can see an urgency behind his eyes as he watches her.

She reaches across the table and takes hold of his wrist gently, making him jump at the touch. Her hands are cold against his skin, and she takes a moment to see how small her hand is next to his. She wants to place her hand on his, palm to palm, fingers entwined. She almost does it until she hears him swallow across from her, bringing her back to the library. With Draco Malfoy. Holding almost intimately onto his arm. She blinks. "Um, well, the bandage looks like it's about to fall off, so maybe I could retie it for you," she begins to roll his robe back up as she flips his arm, forearm facing upwards. "I took a first aid course last summer," she begins to undo the bandage, beginning at his wrist and Malfoy's pulse quickens. "It's really simple, I could teach you if you want…" A faint black line comes into view as she unwraps lower and he sees her expression change. She's frowning at his arm, tracing her thumb over the line and making him shiver. She goes to unwrap more, now completely silent and compelled to find the _truth _as to what lies beneath the bandage.

He rips his arm backwards, knocking two books to the floor as he recoils from her grasp. He messes with the loose end of the bandage, hurriedly wrapping it back up and tucking it in. Hermione is staring at him with wide eyes. "It's nothing," he mutters, bending to pick up the books he dropped; when he sits upright she is still staring at him.

"What is it?" Hermione's voice is barely a whisper. He doesn't answer, messing with the cuff of his sleeve, and she reaches across the table to place her hand on top of his. He flinches, and she sees there are tears in his grey eyes. "I know we aren't close but -" His head suddenly snaps up as he blinks the tears away and he sees _red_.

"Yes, Granger, we aren't close. We aren't even _acquaintances_, let alone _friends_, so I don't know what world you think we live in where you think I'd ever tell all of my life problems to a snotty little Mudblood." As soon as the words leave Malfoy's mouth he regrets it. She leans back in her seat, snatching her hand from on top of his as though he was made of nuclear waste. The kindness and light in her eyes is extinguished almost instantly as she stares across the table at him, completely checked out. "Granger, I didn't mean -" She stands abruptly, her chair hitting the wall behind her with a crack. She begins unceremoniously tossing her parchment back into her bag, followed by the quills and her inkwell. He stands to try and apologise to her before she can go and tell Potty and the Weasel, and they came and kicked his head in. He spots her bottle on the floor and kneels to get it for her, until she all but kicks him out of the way.

"No, Malfoy. You're right. Why would you ever _lower _yourself to interact with someone such as myself? No, you've got the perfect listeners in your minions – sorry, _friends_, Crabbe and Goyle, don't you? You don't need my help and that's just fine." She gets right in his face (or as in-your-face as a 5 foot tall person can with a 6 foot tall one), jabbing her finger towards him as she hisses her words. "But don't you ever – _ever!_ – call me that word again, or so help me, Malfoy, I will rip your eyes out and feed them to you. You don't have the _right _to call me that word, you slimy _brat_."

His eyes widen as she pushes past him and out of their secluded section of the library. With a groan, he piles his things into his bag and gives chase. "Granger!" Heads turn in the library to see him on her tail. She doesn't even look his way as she exits into the corridor. "Granger! Come on!" Madam Pince shoots him an evil look as he shouts through the closing door to Hermione, and he glares back. As he follows Hermione out of the doors, he can hear Madam Pince tutting behind him and he rolls his eyes. He looks to his right and spots her, the only student walking the corridors at two o'clock on a Sunday. "Stop!" To his surprise, she actually does, glaring over her shoulder at him.

"Or what, Malfoy? You'll hex me?" Her voice is thick, eyes sharp and narrowed as she looks straight into his. "You haven't got the guts." He pauses, opening his mouth to fire back that he _does so have the guts_, but she turns her head and carries on walking.

He curses to himself under his breath, before jogging past her and stopping in her path. She tries to step past him, but he blocks her, hands up to try and show he means no harm, and she looks up at him with a look to rival his signature sneer. A low noise of annoyance escapes her when she tries to sidestep him again, only to be stopped once more. "Don't make it harder for yourself, Granger." He smirks at her and she fires back.

"What do you want?"

"To apologise, obviously."

"Oh, right," she scoffs sarcastically, smacking herself comedically in the forehead. "How obvious! That little Draco Malfoy, blood-purist, would want to apologise for calling Muggle-born Granger a… a…" Tears begin to well up in her eyes as she tries to bring herself to say the disgusting slur, and Malfoys chest begins to ache.

"A Mudblood," she flinches as he whispers the word and he has never felt worse. Not even knowing what needs to be done has hurt him as much as this moment, and he can't understand why. "I'm sorry, Granger. Really, I am."

She swallows and swipes her hand under her eyes as the tears run down onto her cheeks; how could she be so weak, in front of him of all people? "I don't need your pity," she shoves past him, and he lets her, before he falls into step beside her. "And I don't believe you anyway. Since when have you ever felt anything other than enjoyment from using that word?"

"Fourth year." He doesn't even hesitate in his answer and she stops, turning to him with a quizzical expression. "Well, the Yule Ball, if you want me to be specific." She's staring at him now, brown eyes wide as she waits for him to continue. He sighs and looks down the corridor, afraid in case they're being watched, so he grabs her lightly by the wrist and pulls her into an empty classroom. He silently closes the door behind them, pulling his wand out of his pocket and mumbling "Colloportus" to lock it. When he turns back to her, she's seated on top of one of the desks, legs crossed at the ankles, feet drumming rhythmically against the table leg. She's picking the skin around her nails when he leans against the table in front of her.

For a minute, neither of them says anything.

"You've used that word since then," she is the first to break the silence. "I'm sure of it."

He nods, thinking. "Yes. Just then, in the library." He watches her, as she continues to pull at her skin. "I've said it in the privacy of my home, to keep up appearances. I've said it in front of my friends for the same reason." he pauses, waiting to see if she has anything to say. She doesn't. "I haven't said it to you since fourth year. I only said it today because I was -" Scared at her seeing it? Worried at what she would think? Disgusted at himself for letting it happen? "Annoyed, with you unwrapping my bandage when I hadn't told you that you could."

"So… you still say it, then?" She mutters, and it takes him a moment to process the question.

"It wasn't about whether or not I said it, it was about whether or not I enjoyed it." He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closing as he tries to string together his next sentence. "I say it so my family doesn't disown me as a blood traitor – obviously I'm not one of those," he grimaces. "That's… that's not what I meant. I meant to call someone a blood traitor is stupid and it takes away from the feats of Muggle-born and half-blood wizards and-"

"It's okay." Hermione cuts him off to stop him from rambling, but then she remembers the other part of his statement. "Why the ball? Why was that the turning point?"

He takes a moment to think, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I was there with Pansy, who looked great, as she always does," Hermione's nose scrunches as she thinks of the pug-faced girl, who was known to be practically attached to Malfoy – in more ways than one. Hermione's mind flickers to the rumours of Parkinson and Malfoy, and her cheeks grow warm as she feels a tinge of jealousy gnawing at her. "I felt amazing; I had a gorgeous girl on my arm, my mother had sent me the best dress robes she could find – so obviously they were the _best_ – and yet… when you came down those stairs in your periwinkle dress… suddenly the pure-blooded Pansy didn't look as good. And it made me realise that maybe your blood doesn't make you any lower, or her any higher. Because – Merlin, Granger – you looked incredible. You looked better than any girl at the ball," Hermione notes the blush creeping up his throat as he remembers back to that Christmas, how his eyes aren't looking at her, and how the corners of his mouth keep tugging upwards as he thinks about it. It makes her smile, for some strange reason.

He inhales deeply. "And it made me feel, well, horrible, for lack of a better word. I felt like a jerk. It was as if, all of a sudden I could see past the end of my nose. Once I noticed you, I couldn't stop. Despite your blood, you are the best witch in the year – maybe the school – and you never let anyone tell you what you can or can't do. It made me feel gross, to even have thought about using that word towards you – towards anyone. I am trying, really I am; it's difficult, when you've been raised thinking something is okay to suddenly realise it's not. Especially when you could stop completely but you know as soon as you do you'll get punished for it." He is staring at his shoes, now. His voice is small as he lays himself out in front of her.

"Blood purity is a stupid concept. Magic doesn't see that you are the son or daughter of another wizard and somehow grant you greater powers than the rest of them. If it did, how come you're second in the class," she smirks at him, and he lets out a slight laugh. "Malfoy, you realised that you were wrong, that's the best part. Now you need to work on not saying it when you get annoyed – but I understand you saying it around your family; I know what your father is like, especially after… I understand your fear of being considered a 'blood traitor'. But you can't just throw it around whenever you get angry."

"I know," he murmurs, rubbing his eyes harshly. He pushes his fringe out of the way to look at her, his fingers still tangled in his own hair. "Granger, I really am sorry. For saying it." She can see the sadness in his grey eyes, and she reaches across to him to touch his knee reassuringly.

"Malfoy," she smiles at him. "I forgive you. This time." He chuckles slightly, standing from the table and going over to the door. He unlocks it, moving his wand in a backwards 'S' motion, opening it to let her leave first.

"Thank you for listening to me, Granger. And thank you for forgiving me. I swear I will never say it again," they both start back in the direction to the library.

"What do you swear on?"

"My mother." He doesn't hesitate. She notices how his eyes have turned stormier.

"Why your mother?" She gently bumps him with her shoulder and he lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, his head dropping slightly. She looks at his hair and imagines running her fingers through it as he lays his head in her lap.

"She's the only thing I'm afraid to lose."


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N: Just a warning, there is a brief mention of self-harm in this chapter - nothing too in depth. I don't want to upset anyone.. :( Also thank you so much to everyone who has left a review so far! I can't express how happy they made me to read, I really didn't expect this stupid little fic to go anywhere. Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy :)**

By the time Hermione is moving with the tide of Gryffindor students towards the dungeons late Tuesday morning, she hasn't seen Draco Malfoy once. She hadn't seen him during their lesson of Defence Against the Dark Arts on Monday morning, and he hadn't shown up to double Potions that afternoon, either. The only thing running through Hermione's head is the cold sadness in his eyes as he had talked about his mother. She had tried to get him out of her mind, but couldn't stop her eyes from rolling when she heard Harry and Ron blindly accusing him of every miniscule thing over breakfast. Ron had obviously noticed, and had asked her (quite rudely, through a mouthful of toast) if she was "showing where her real loyalty lies", to which Hermione had called him a petulant child who wouldn't know the true meaning of loyalty if it hit him in the face. Lavender Brown had protectively curled her arm around her boyfriend, practically hissing at Hermione in a warning.

It comes as no surprise to Hermione, then, when she enters the Potions classroom to see Lavender in the seat next to Ron, glaring at her as she stands in the doorway. Hermione looks wearily to her other best friend, who was sat with Neville, as he just shrugs at her awkwardly. All of the other Gryffindors have partners at their desks, so Hermione drops her things at an empty desk in the back, turning a positive spin onto the unused chair next to her; she has more room for extra ingredients, and her books don't need to be so cramped. At the front of the classroom, Professor Slughorn clears his throat and begins the lesson. Hermione's quill flies across the page as she takes down every word that comes out of his mouth, her small, scrawled shorthand filling the parchment. She'll rewrite it neater in the library, later on, but right now she needs to get all of the information down as fast as possible.

While she is copying Slughorn's writing from the blackboard (on the many uses of Flobberworm mucus), the door at the back of the classroom slams open, and she hears the sound of smart dress shoes clacking against the stone floor. "Mister Malfoy! How nice of you to join us!" Professor Slughorn is not annoyed; there is a smile on his face as he regards the blond boy, who is now stood between the aisles of desks. He seems genuinely happy that Malfoy showed up, which makes Hermione frown. It was almost as though he didn't expect him to show up – like there was something wrong with Malfoy. "Why don't you take a seat at the back with Miss Granger, I'm sure she'll catch you up on everything you've missed so far." Harry twists round in his seat to glare at Malfoy as he drops his bag to the floor, and Hermione shoots him a look that says _don't say a word_. He shakes his head before turning back to the front.

Malfoy slides onto the stool beside her, and she finally looks at him. He's pale – paler than usual, with dark circles under his eyes as though he hadn't slept at all. His cheeks and nose are bright red, and his grey eyes are glistening, as though he's been crying. His skin is covered in a light sheen of sweat as he stares straight forward at the board, mouth set in a hard, straight line. His normally well-kept hair is a mess, as though he'd been running his fingers through it and pulling, pulling, over and over again.

He looks horrible.

His right leg is shaking as he rests it on the bar that connects the legs of the stool, fingers curled into claws on his thighs as his bitten nails dig into his skin through his trousers. She gently touches his arm, and he flinches, turning towards her and looking through her. "Are you…" He shakes his head softly, and she understands. _Not here. _She carefully shifts the books out from the space in front of him, and when the table is clear he deflates, arms crossed on top of the table with his head cradled in between them. His chest rises and falls steadily, before increasing in pace, and Hermione realises that the boy is crying. She sits next to him awkwardly, fingers playing with the hem of her skirt as she watches the inaudible sobs rack his body; she doesn't know whether she should reach out, or say something, and so she waits until he lifts his head from the desk, sniffing, harshly wiping his cheeks with the heel of his hand.

The rest of the class is engrossed in their own little worlds, their own conversations. They don't notice the exchange happening at the back of the room.

"So, what have I missed?" His voice is measured, his eyes not looking at her. She can hear the croak in his throat from the crying. He nudges her arm slightly, and she slowly pushes her parchment in between them. His eyes skim the scribblings, and a slight crease appears on his forehead as he tries to decipher the shorthand. "What does…" He points to a section, and she explains to him in a low whisper, watching as he copies down what she's saying. Her eyes stray to his hand, still covered in ink stains, and she notes the red lines running from the back of it and down his wrist. There's quite a few of them, some shorter than others, some fresher. It's almost as if he has been scratching continuously, but his nails were too short to make such marks. She knows what kind of lines they really are, and what goes through someone's mind to make them do it.

"Malfoy…" She breaks off from explaining the work, and he glances at her from the corner of his eye. He puts his quill down and flexes his fingers, taking a break from the writing. With his hand now next to her left, she is once again hit with how large his hand is compared to hers. She lightly lifts his hand, tracing her thumb over the red lines before flipping his hand over, palm side up. His hand is soft, without calluses – the boy has never worked a day in his life, of course he wouldn't have rough hands. She rubs her fingers across small white scars that litter his palm; this obviously wasn't his first time sparring with his tormented mind. He watches her silently as she feels that urge to entwine her fingers with his, palm to palm, her head resting on his shoulder.

She drops his hand quickly.

She struggles to form a question that can express her concern, but not set off his short fuse. All she is able to come up with is a single word. "Why?"

He lets out a faint laugh, hair falling in front of his eyes as he stares at the table. With a flick of his head, he looks at her fully for the first time since he arrived. His eyes are sad, but the corners of his mouth are upturned, and when he sees that she's not laughing with him his mouth droops. "You're being serious?"

She frowns. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. No one's ever really cared before, and for it to be you of all people…" He puffs his cheeks out before exhaling. "I guess I'm just afraid," he hesitates before adding, "of the future." He rubs the back of his palm softly.

"That doesn't mean you should harm yourself, Malfoy."

"We aren't friends, Granger. Remember? You're under no obligation to be nice to me."

"I may not be under any _obligation_, but I do care, Malfoy. Even about you."

He laughs again, and Hermione's mind goes haywire. Her brain is telling her to grab his face and kiss him, for as long as possible before they need to break for air. Instead, she tells that voice inside her to _shut up, for once, just shut up_ – she looks into his grey eyes with what she hopes is a look of kindness and caring. "You should talk to people when you feel like this, Malfoy."

"Who am I supposed to talk to? You said it yourself, Crabbe and Goyle aren't the best listeners. And it's not like any one of them would understand what I'm going through right now anyway."

"Of course they will! If you never tell them then how will they help you? You can't suffer in silence. I'm sure they're just as afraid of the future as you are." The voice in the back of his mind starts whispering to him, _if only she knew the truth about what you are_, and he winces.

"Yeah, cause they're all terribly worried about their exams aren't they," he scoffs, running his hand through his hair. "Listen, Granger, I can look after myself. I don't need pity."

"Well, if you ever do feel like talking to someone…" She begins chewing on her lip. "I'm more than happy to listen."

He smiles slightly, and his eyes seem a tiny bit brighter than they were before, glancing back towards the front to see Slughorn erasing the notes on the board and drawing a new diagram, which he begins copying down on his paper. Hermione follows his lead, sketching the diagram onto her parchment, her cheek resting on her left hand. She can feel the warmth in her face and hopes he didn't notice her cheeks begin to colour.

They pass the rest of the lesson in complete silence, him occasionally dropping his quill to flex his fingers as they began to cramp, her swapping her parchment pieces as they became filled up. It is in lessons like Potions, when they have so much writing, that she misses the joys of Muggle notebooks.

Students begin filing out of the classroom, chattering and bickering amongst themselves, a calm chaos making its way towards the Great Hall for lunch. Ron walks past Hermione without so much as a passing glance. Lavender is clinging onto his elbow like always (Hermione wonders if Ron has claw marks in his arm from the death grip she has him in); she's cooing at him, playing with his bright shock of hair as they walk in step out of the classroom. When she passes, she gives Hermione a glare that boils her blood. It takes everything in her to not pull her wand out and hex the stupid girl. Harry follows them closely, stopping just before he leaves. He opens his mouth as if he's going to say something, before giving Malfoy a sideways look and shaking his head. He mouths "later" before catching up with Ron.

Hermione sighs to herself as she carefully rolls the six rolls of parchment she'd managed to fill in the lesson, numbering them on the back and slotting them into her bag. She purposefully takes her time, so she doesn't get caught in the crush and is free to wander alone. The room is silent apart from her packing her things away, and it makes her relax, to know there's no one else in the room; for once, no one is expecting anything of her. The inkwell gets sealed fully, turned upside down to make sure it won't leak, before it goes into the bag as well. Her quills go neatly in the front pocket. She slings the strap of the bag over her shoulder, before buckling it up (three notches on either side) and finally turning to leave the classroom a good five minutes after the lessons end. Someone steps out of the shadows and Hermione jumps, her heart stopping (well, it actually sped up, but that's not the saying).

Draco Malfoy smirks to himself as she clutches her chest.

"You git!" She hisses at him, waiting for her heart rate to slow. "You couldn't have just stood there like a normal person?"

"No, Granger. To have stood there like a 'normal person' would have meant Potty would have seen me loitering around, waiting for you."

"And is that such a bad thing?" She goes to push the door open with her shoulder, but Malfoy reaches over her head and opens it for her.

"To be seen with you?" He thinks for a minute as he closes the door behind them before falling into step with her. "It depends on who's seeing."

"So not Harry, not Ron," she counts them down on her fingers. "I'm assuming not any of your Slytherin 'friends'." She places air quotes around the word, making Malfoy laugh as he spins to face her, walking backwards down the corridor.

"Hey! Some of them are my friends."

"So who does that leave? Random Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students and the professors?" He considers it for a moment, grinning.

"I suppose so," she shakes her head at him and he laughs again. "Come on, you can't say that you _want _Potty and the Weasel to see us together."

"No! Of course not! But sneaking around makes it seem as though we're doing something we shouldn't be…"

He wiggles his eyebrows at her. "I knew you had a dirty mind, Granger!" Her cheeks begin to blaze red and her eyes widen as she realises the second implication of her statement.

"I didn't mean it like that!" She swats for him, and he sidesteps out of the way. "As much as you go on about us not being even acquaintances, you really do act like we are."

"Well, Granger, you're the only person who's asked what's wrong." _Not that you'd tell her_. "And you can't talk; who's the one who always starts the conversations?"

"I just think it's nice to talk to people!" She doesn't mention that she wants to look into his eyes forever, that she wants to tangle her fingers in his hair, that she wants to be able to _be _with him, damn everyone else. She doesn't mention that the one thing she wants to do right now _in this moment_ is reach out and grab his hand, and never let go. "Besides, I don't think Ronald is going to be talking to me any time soon."

He rolls his eyes. "Ah, yes. I saw how Weaselby was reacting with the blonde twit hanging off him."

Hermione bites her lip to keep from laughing. "He's mad at me because I called him a child this morning, though to be fair he was being quite childish, and not at all how a prefect should act." They emerge from the dungeons into the Entrance Hall, and Malfoy begins to head towards the Great Hall before he notices Hermione's hesitation. She's absently picking at the skin around her nails as she stares at the giant doors ahead of them. She can't bear the thought of going in there to suffer the glares and silence from her friends for the better part of an hour. But she doesn't know if she'd be able to last until dinner – her stomach was already beginning to gurgle at her now.

He glances towards the doors, then back to the bushy haired girl. He can see her debating whether or not to go in. "Wait here." Before she can say anything back, he slips through the large doors. Before the doors shut, she sees him making his way towards the Slytherin table, and hears the horrible shrill squeal of Pansy Parkinson as she jumps up to meet him.

Malfoy wraps one arm around Pansy, mentally rolling his eyes as she grasps onto him like he's a life ring and she's drowning. "Hi, Pans," he murmurs to her, before kissing her lightly on the cheek. He doesn't know why, but doing that felt like he was doing something wrong, something alien, though it was something that he did nearly every day. In fact he normally did _more _than kiss her on the cheek, but somehow this felt… forced. Like he was doing it because he knew it's what people wanted to see from him, not because he got enjoyment from it. He slides past Crabbe and Goyle, nodding at Blaise across the table. Theodore wiggles his brows at Malfoy and Pansy, to which Malfoy mouths: "Fuck off, Theo," which receives a hearty laugh from the other boy. He spies the fruit bowl in the middle of the table and untangles himself from Pansy, snatching a green apple and tossing it in the air before slipping it into his pocket. He turns to leave but hesitates, then grabs a red apple, placing that into his pocket as well.

As he starts back towards the doors, Pansy grabs onto his arm with a pout on her face. "But Draco," he can tell she's trying to make her voice sweet and honey-laced, but it just feels grating. It's nothing like the light, yet sometimes bossy, voice of the girl stood in the Hall. "You've only just arrived and I haven't seen you _all day_, and you were sat with that stupid Mudblood all of Potions…" Malfoy coughs slightly, shocked at the rage that had started to build in his stomach, and he has to fight himself to not shout at her that _she's not stupid and she's not dirty_, but he knows exactly how that would pan out.

"I know, Pans," he tries to be how he normally is with her – passive but caring – but it just feels fake on his tongue. "But I really need to study for this test. I'll see you at dinner, promise." With a final kiss on her cheek (making him feel slightly unclean) he quickly escapes the hall.

He didn't think she would be waiting, but there she is, in the Entrance Hall, leaning against a stone pillar with her nose in a book (who could expect anything less from Hermione Granger). He pulls the red apple from his pocket and polishes it against his robe before he steps in front of her and places his fingertips on the top of her book, slightly pushing it downwards and away from her face. Her head snaps up suddenly, and he smirks at her as he holds the apple out to her. She stares at it for a moment, before reaching out and taking it, smiling up at him. "Thank you." She daintily bites into it as he pulls his own (green) apple out of his pocket, placing it in his mouth and taking a huge chunk out of it. He leans down and grabs her bag, apple still in his mouth, starting off down the corridor towards the Charms classroom. "Hey!" She goes for the strap and he swings it out of the way, holding it out of her reach.

"Uh-uh," he slings the strap over his shoulder. "You were too slow; I'm carrying it."

"How was I too slow? I didn't even know we were leaving!"

"Well you should've used that big brain of yours and assumed it." He pokes her gently in the forehead and she laughs, taking another bite from the apple. He can't help but look at her lips as she takes a tiny piece off the apple.

"That's not fair," she grumbles around the apple, before swallowing. "You're not even in Charms now." She points out, triumphant at having found a flaw in his plan.

"I know," He twists the stem off the apple, crunching down on the last part, the stem being the only indication that Malfoy had had an apple in the first place. "I just thought you'd appreciate having someone to walk with, seeing as Potty is too much of a coward to go against his boyfriend and speak to you, and the other one is too much of a brat to do anything but ignore you – which means he knows that he's in the wrong, of course."

"Oh. Well, thank you, Malfoy. That's very… kind of you." She is holding the core of her own apple awkwardly in her hand.

"Here," he holds his hand out, and she gives him the core, watching as he eats it. "Apples are my favourites," he grins down at her, and she can't help but smile back up at him. "But, the green ones are superior, obviously." Hermione gapes at him in mock-offence. "Green beats every colour, every day of the week, Granger." He shrugs, still grinning. "Sorry you can't handle the truth."

"Mister Malfoy, you know for a fact that's not true!" They reach the Charms classroom with another 15 minutes to spare, and Malfoy drops Hermione's bag on the floor by her feet.

"Name one colour better than green."

"Well… blue!"

"Blue is boring. It's an eyesore. Try again."

She thinks for a moment, chewing her lip. "Pink."

He looks down at her inquisitively. "I didn't take you for the type of girl to like the colour _pink_, Granger."

"I'll have you know, Malfoy, at home my room is painted bright pink."

He laughs, and Hermione finds herself laughing with him. "I honestly thought you'd have a more subtle room… like beige." She slaps him on the arm and he looks at her in shocked awe as he rubs the area. "One – _ow_. Two – fine, noted, Hermione Granger hates the colour beige." He leans against the wall and runs a hand through his hair so he can look at her clearly. "And to answer the original question: _no_, pink is in no way better than green. Next."

"Red."

He scoffs. "There is absolutely no universe in which red looks better than green. No offence, Granger, but I think out of the two of us I look one thousand times better."

That's a lie. The only colour better than green in this moment is red, and that is because it is the colour he associates with her. Her red cheeks when she blushes at the slightest of things. Her red lips when she chews on them for so long. The red of her robes and her tie. When he looks at her he sees red, and for once in his life that isn't a bad thing. For once it doesn't mean he's angry. Now, in his mind, red symbolises calm, and kindness. It represents books and rain and just _being_.

He could see himself beginning to enjoy the colour red.

They stand there and talk some more, laughing with each other and learning that perhaps the other isn't so bad after all. When there's only five minutes to the lesson, he begins to hear chatter down the corridor, and he feels his heart sink. "I have a free period after Divination." He doesn't know how he's going to get to the other side of the building to get there on time, but he doesn't care. "I'll probably be in the library if you'd want to…" He pauses, considering how to end the sentence. "If you want to just exist together for a while."

She laughs, a beautiful lilting noise that makes Malfoys stomach flip. "I think it would be great to 'just exist' for a while."

He smiles at her, and she smiles back, and he has to restrain himself from leaning down and kissing her – not like he kisses Pansy, a proper, tender, loving kiss. The sort of kiss you read about in fairy stories.

But this wasn't a fairy story.

This was Draco Malfoy.

And he couldn't be seen kissing Hermione Granger. He knew what the price would be if the wrong people found out.

He turns to leave, adding over his shoulder: "See you in a bit, Granger."

"I'll see you later, Draco." She calls after him as the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students make their way around the corner. Those who heard eye her weirdly, but don't say anything. Harry, Ron, and Lavender are the last Gryffindors to turn the corner.

Malfoy saunters in a happy daze through the corridors. He contemplates not showing up to Divination at all, but he doesn't want to seem suspicious, and so arrives exactly nine minutes late. It's only when he's sat with Pansy's head resting on his shoulder, and her fingers entwined with his, he realises that Hermione Granger had used his first name.

And he quite liked it.


	5. Chapter Five

As soon as Divination is over, Malfoy practically drops through the trapdoor as he pushes past the flow of students towards the library. He can hear Pansy's shrill screaming behind him, and he grimaces, slipping into an alcove shrouded by darkness. She runs past his hiding spot obliviously, frantically searching the crowd for any trace of his unmistakable white-blond hair. He counts in his head, waiting one minute, then two, before emerging from the alcove. There are only two or three students lingering now, so he doesn't bother to try and blend in. Instead, he runs from the North Tower to the library, smart shoes smacking against the stone floor, robes billowing out behind him. He almost knocks into Professor McGonagall but quickly jumps out of the way past her, leaving her flustering behind him.

"Mister Malfoy! No running in the corridors!"

"Sorry, Professor!" He shouts back over his shoulder, but he doesn't slow down. He doesn't know why he's in such a hurry to get to the library; he doesn't know why he cares so much about being able to spend as much time as possible with the Gryffindor girl. He tells himself it's because he wants to snag the table in the corner, so that their studying (it will probably be studying (it will most definitely be studying)) isn't interrupted by any of the other annoying students. A grin spreads across his face, a laugh escaping him, his eyes glimmering. He looks genuinely happy – nothing like the sick boy who had entered Professor Slughorn's classroom that very morning.

The library doors hit the wall with a bang as he enters, and Madam Pince glares at him. He smirks to himself. "At least I slowed down," he mumbles under his breath, twisting and winding through the stacks, finally reaching the hidden table. There's no one else there (thank Merlin), and he dumps his bag on the table before slouching into one of the seats. He pulls his copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and flips it open to the page Slughorn set for homework – at least three feet of parchment on transmutation – and begins skimming through the words on the page. While he waits for Hermione to show up, he begins the essay, his small cursive neat and precise. He gets about a foot into the essay by the time the girl plonks herself down into the seat across from him, pushing her unruly hair behind her ears. As she takes her robe off and drapes it across the chair, he glances at her bag on the floor and frowns; the bag was open, and inside there seemed to be a large throw blanket. "Planning on spending the night here, Granger?"

She cocks her head inquisitively, and when he nods at her bag she laughs. "Tuesdays are normally spent in my dorm, wrapped in a blanket, reading a silly teen novel." She shakes her head slightly, that trademark blush appearing on her cheeks. "Tuesdays are the only days I let myself properly relax."

"You didn't have to agree to meet me, you know. It isn't that big of a deal if you want to go do that -"

"No, no, don't be silly!" She pulls the pink blanket out of her bag, wrapping it around herself like a shawl and piling the excess into her lap. "We came to just exist, right? I'm certain we can exist like this." She pulls a book out of her bag – nothing like anything else in the library. It was small, not bound in leather, but in paper. The cover is dark, a man with his arms around a girl in the centre, and sharp lettering printed across the front of it. She places it down onto the table, tucking her chair further in, and her knees hit Malfoys. He jolts, feeling the tips of his ears heating up, and so he runs his hand through his hair to give himself an excuse as to cover the bright redness – though he knows they will probably show through the paleness of the hair anyway. She picks the book up and opens it to the first page, and Malfoy leans down to read the title. She sees him struggling due to how close to the table she's holding it, so she lifts the book higher, allowing to see it clearly. _Secret Vampire_. He wrinkles his nose, which makes her laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. "I know, I know, but it looks okay. It came out in June, and I haven't really had chance to sit down and read it yet." She stands from her chair and sits on the floor against the wall behind her. The high windows cast long strips of light just in front of her crossed legs. "Come read it with me, we might both be surprised."

He slides from his chair, regarding her with an amused expression as he takes his robe off, carefully folding it and placing it on the table. He slowly lowers himself onto the floor next to her, his shirt pulling tightly against his lean torso and toned arms.

The bandage is ever present.

She takes her blanket off, before wrapping it again around the both of their shoulders. The comfort of the blanket makes Malfoys eyes flutter closed for just a second, and when he opens them, she's smiling at him. "It's a really nice blanket." He murmurs, voice low.

"I thought I'd give you an idea of what a proper Hermione Granger Tuesday is like."

"So far it's quite enjoyable." A smirk fleets across his face as he looks down at her. She balances the book on her knee, holding it between them, and they both begin reading at their own pace. Malfoy quickly realises that Hermione was the sort of person to absorb the story; she didn't read these pages as fast as she read the ones in their textbooks, instead she took her time in scrutinising each and every detail. While that was all well and good for Hermione, Malfoy found himself squirming to turn the page, and having to wait for her to catch up was testing his patience. More than once had he turned the page while she'd still be reading.

"Here, so neither of us get annoyed, why don't you read it aloud at your pace and I'll listen." She nudges the book closer to his knee.

"No, that's not fair. You won't get the same experience." He doesn't really care about the experience from the book – he doesn't really care for the book _at all_ – he only cares that it means that he can spend more time with her.

"It's always calming to be read to. Lean forward," Hermione replies as she drags the blanket from around their shoulders. Before he can open his mouth to protest, she spreads it across their laps, tucking herself in up to her chin. "This is comfier," when she looks up, she sees his offended look before he is able to change his expression, and she laughs again, before snorting. Her eyes go wide and she presses her hands to her mouth in shock. Malfoy stares at her, mouth agape, before he starts laughing loudly to himself. Hermione joins in, and soon they are both doubled over – or as doubled over as you can be when sat crossed legged on the floor – in fits of laughter. Hermione slumps against his arm as Madam Pince marches angrily into the alcove, a look of shock passing her features when she sees that the girl making the noise is little Miss Hermione Granger, who is currently sat on the floor.

"If you two can't be quiet you'll have to find somewhere else to… whatever it is you two are doing."

"Yes, Madam Pince. We're both terribly sorry, we promise we'll be quiet." Hermione suddenly sits bolt upright against the wall, her face straight as the woman nods. She eyes them both suspiciously before leaving. As soon as Madam Pince is out of their eyeline, Hermione's shoulders sag as she sighs.

He watches her in silence – the way her joyful demeanour plummeted after the reprimand. Her eyes are trained on the floor as he slides the book from her hands, picking it up and clearing his throat. He is tempted to crack the spine, to really break the book in, but he doesn't know if Hermione would ever forgive him for doing so. She sighs and goes to stand, but he reaches out and grabs her wrist lightly. "Are we reading this or not?" He tries to keep his voice light as she looks wearily at him. He knows that she's about to say no, that they should probably just do their work, because Miss Hermione Granger will not allow herself to be kicked out of her safe haven. "Just for a while."

"We can read it for 20 minutes," As she drops back to the floor, she pushes her hands through the curls, smoothing them against her scalp only to have them spring back up when she takes her hands away. "Then we should probably go for dinner." Malfoy glances at his watch, shocked at how the past two hours have flown by.

She leans her head back against the wall, placing her arms under the blanket and pulling it up once more. Her eyes close as she waits for him to start reading, and he is taken aback by how peaceful and at ease she looks, curls falling into her face. Her eyelashes are thick and fluttering against her cheek. Her lips are a rosy pink, perfect and unchapped. It's as if time is frozen with her and him sat there together; he watches her and he feels a pain spreading through his chest as he thinks about a future – an impossible future – with her. A future that is stupid and unrealistic, but a future that he'd be happy to live in.

"Malfoy?" He's jerked back to reality, and she's looking at him through one opened eye. "Are we reading or not?" He smiles down at her, and she can't help but smile back.

"Okay, so…" He begins reading, his voice smooth and soft. He changes his voice for each character, and when he does a fake high voice for the girl in the book, he sees Hermione's lips twitch upwards slightly. He sees her out of the corner of his eye as he reads to her, never slowing his pace, and she is looking at him with what can only be described as adoration. Completely and utterly tender, she is gazing up at him, and she tells herself what that she's feeling is a forming friendship, though the butterflies in her stomach whenever he smirks at her might be trying to tell her otherwise.

The set 20 minutes come and go, and he keeps reading to her, her eyes fluttering shut as she imagines the world that he is describing. At 30 minutes, she leans her head on his shoulder, forgetting who she's with, and he stops. His cheeks begin to heat up as he looks down at her resting against him. He bites his lip as tears well in his eyes – tears of happiness, but also fear – as he realises this is _nothing _like when Pansy leans against him, he doesn't have to fight the urge to pull away and he _hates it_ because he knows it could never be a possibility.

"Malfoy?" She whispers it against his crisp, white shirt and he swallows. He continues the story, trying to ignore when she nuzzles her cheek against his shoulder, or when she pulls her blanket further around herself. By the time they hit 45 minutes, he's completely blocked it all out, until her right arm wraps around his left, lightly hanging onto the crook of his elbow as she nuzzles against him once more, a slight smile across her face. She opens her eyes for a second, her hair blocking her view of him, and he pushes it back behind her ear. "Keep going," she murmurs, eyes fluttering shut once more. "Please?"

"Yes ma'am," he complies and reads to her until his throat becomes sore, and even then he doesn't stop reading. Occasionally she makes comments on the story, but if it isn't for the infrequent mumbled sentences (only half of which actually make sense to Malfoy) he would have been certain that she'd fallen asleep. She twists herself around slightly, the blanket slipping from her left shoulder. He reads until the book is finished (though he doubt she heard that far), then checks his watch and sees that it's quarter to 6, meaning they only have another two hours to get dinner. She doesn't complain about him stopping – her chest rises and falls steadily, and he inclines his head slightly, resting it on top of hers. His breathing begins to keep pace with hers; with every inhaling breath he smells her rose shampoo (another red thing that he will forever associate with the smartest witch in the year), her hair tickling his cheek. He thinks about kissing her on the top of her head, but that would be a rather creepy thing to do. Instead, he whispers down to her, practically talking into her hair.

"Granger."

She doesn't stir, so he clears his throat and tries again, the tiniest bit louder. "Granger." This time he says it like a song, the tune light and merry on his tongue. She still doesn't move. "Hermione." Her eyes slowly open as she adjusts to the now dim lighting of the library, still leaning against him, her arm still tangled in his. She's obviously groggy as she blinks slowly at him, her brown eyes unfocused.

"Mmm?"

"Granger, it's time for dinner." And just like that he's back to using her last name. She sits up, rubbing her eyes with her fingers (her right arm still looped through his) as she wakes herself up. "It's almost 6." She pulls her arm out from his, her fingers brush the edge of the bandage and Malfoys pulse quickens as he sees her eyes flicker down towards it. In his head he begs her _please don't ask_, because he knows that right now, in this moment, he will not be able to lie to her.

Thankfully, she doesn't. She stands up and she stretches, reaching towards the high ceiling and arching her back with a groan as her shoulders click. Malfoy gets off the floor, placing the book on the table so he can brush the backs of his trousers down; he doesn't want to be seen walking around the castle with dust covering his backside. He lifts his robe from the table, pulling it on as he watches her wake her body up. She pulls her hair up, wrapping it in a bobble so that it is out of the way in a messy (_really _messy) bun, before she folds her blanket carefully and squashes it into her bag. She takes her robe from the chair and slips it on, turning and smiling at him. "Hi," she's beaming, though he doesn't know why.

"Hi," his voice is low as he gives her a toothy grin, and she giggles. "Here, you might want this." He holds the book out to her and she takes it, her fingers touching his, which sends a tiny jolt of electricity down his arm. "Ooh, you bastard!" He gasps as he pulls his hand away quickly, before hearing her laughing. He looks down and sees that she isn't wearing her regulation black dress shoes, her socked feet against the floor. "You evil little…" He grins at her when he realises, and she just laughs more before slipping her shoes on. While she's occupied, he runs to the other side of the table and wraps his arms around her waist, lifting her with her back to his chest, and she shrieks, laughing and hitting his arms. "Say you're sorry!" He spins her around once, twice, and she kicks her legs, giggling, her head flung backwards.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry!" Her breath is coming in short bursts as she laughs harder.

"_I'm sorry_…?" He mocks, amazed at how light she is. He could hold her like this forever and it wouldn't hurt for a second.

"I'm sorry, Draco Malfoy!"

"Apology accepted, Hermione Granger." He puts her back down on the floor and she spins to face him, a massive grin across her face as she pushes him lightly on the chest. "Hey now," he holds his arms up in mock surrender. "We're even, don't do anything to make me get you again."

She takes a step forward, so they are stood practically toe to toe, and she has to look up at him. "What if I do?"

"Well I can't promise I'll be as kind as I was just then."

"Kind?" She laughs, and a hiccup escapes her, which makes Malfoy erupt into bright, warm laughter. They stand there for a while, toe to toe, him laughing and her hiccupping, until they both fall into a comfortable silence (occasionally broken by her hiccups), staring into each other's eyes.

She could do it. It would be so easy right now to fling her arms around his neck and pull him down to her height and just _kiss him_. But she shouldn't – if he doesn't like her the same way (even though she was still actively trying to convince herself she only felt a platonic love for him) then everything would go back to the way it was before, or it would be worse. She's still thinking when she hears him curse under his breath.

"Grab your stuff, come on," he's still smiling, and she's still hiccupping, and when she turns she sees why he's trying to hurry her.

Madam Pince is stalking towards their table with a dark scowl on her face, and for some reason Hermione is not afraid. It makes her want laugh more – to be kicked out of the library with Malfoy and not with Harry and Ron was something she'd never have guessed would happen. She quickly slings her bag over her shoulder as he throws his parchment and quill into his bag.

"We're very sorry, Madam Pince," he's saying to the woman's outraged face. "We're leaving right now, again we are so terribly sorry," Hermione is looking at her shoes to keep herself from bursting into laughter. They squeeze out of their sanctuary, and when he turns his head to her, she sees that he is biting his lip to contain himself, but that doesn't stop the smirk pulling at the corners.

She lightly bumps him with her shoulder, and he bumps her back, holding the door open for her when they leave the library. In the corridor, they both collapse into fits of glee, before pulling themselves together and walking almost drunkenly to the Great Hall. She slips her hand into his and he stiffens in shock. Their fingers aren't laced together, but the intimacy of it takes him off guard, and he doesn't realise she's started to skip beside him until she starts swinging their arms into the air.

"Come on, Malfoy, have some fun!" He rolls his eyes, but smiles at her with a fondness he's never felt for anyone else in this damned school, ever.

"I think we've had enough fun for a few days, Granger." His delivery is dry, to which she turns and pouts. A laugh escapes him and she keeps skipping, swinging their arms in time with her steps.

They reach the Great Hall too soon.

They part ways just before the giant doors so it doesn't seem suspicious, the two of them walking in together.

"Until tomorrow, Miss Granger." Her heart plummets, but his doesn't. He'll see her tomorrow, no matter what.

"See you around, Mister Malfoy." He gives her an over-exaggerated bow, kissing her hand before she turns and walks the last few steps to the hall alone, disappearing behind the open doors.

He waits a few moments, leaning against the stone wall and biting his nails until he thinks its an appropriate time to enter without it looking staged. Almost as soon as he enters the doors, Pansy flings herself into his arms, smothering him with kisses and dragging him to the Slytherin table, where he ends up squashed between her and Theo.

Hermione watches the exchange from the other side of the hall, pushing her food around her plate absently, still ignored by her 'best friends'. She watches Pansy kiss him on both cheeks, before planting a big sloppy one on his lips, right in front of everyone before he sits next to Theodore Nott.

Sat there alone, Hermione can't help but wish that she was Pansy – or Theodore, of course – so long as she actually had _someone _who cared about her presence.

He sits and stares absently across the room, until his eyes lock with hers. She sits up just a tiny bit straighter, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and he smirks, winking at her when the other Slytherins attentions are elsewhere. Her cheeks go red, and he grins. "Tomorrow," he mouths across to her.

"Tomorrow," she mouths back, before he turns to Pansy with as she goes to feed him a spoonful of apple pie. Jealously stabs Hermione in the gut.

She wishes she was Pansy.


	6. Chapter Six

Just after 7 o'clock, Malfoy saunters to the Slytherin Common room, Pansy holding his hand in a death grip. He can see his skin going white (or whiter than normal) where she's applying pressure, and when he looks at her, she bats her eyelashes at him, pouting slightly. His eyes dart to Blaise, who holds his hands up with a laugh. "Don't look at me; I have 2 overdue Transfiguration essays I should probably start." He winks at the two of them before slipping away with Theodore Nott to talk on one of the green couches – in other words, quite obviously not doing his overdue Transfiguration essays. Malfoy looks back at Pansy, who is grinning like a wolf. He sighs inwardly, before dragging her upstairs to the sixth year boys' dorm. He would never hear the end of it if he rejected her, so it was probably easier to just get it over with. A part of him hopes that sleeping with Pansy will help jerk his brain back into place, and he'll finally realise that he's just being stupid - that he'll realise he still sees a future with Pansy Parkinson.

Afterwards, he lays there in the dark, wrapped in the cool, green silk sheets with the wrong dark haired witch resting her head on his bare chest, and he feels dirty, in more ways than one. He feels as though he's betrayed someone, as though he's in the middle of a horrible affair – and maybe he is, except he doesn't know which of them is going to be the one who gets hurt. It's a stupid thing to think; there is nothing between him and Hermione, she's just a friend.

She's just a kind, smart, beautiful, caring, considerate friend.

He groans, pressing his hands to his eyes, and Pansy doesn't move. Her hand trails lovingly across his chest in her sleeping state and he feels a pain in the bottom of his stomach. Pansy is amazing (she 'loves' him even more now that he bears the Mark, so much that she begged him to take the bandage off beforehand), and a piece of Malfoys heart will always belong to her.

But she's not Hermione Granger.

Malfoy doesn't believe for a second he will ever be able to feel anything more than fondness for the pure-blood girl lying on top of him, and he hates himself for it. He wishes he could turn time back to the good days, when he wasn't constantly thinking about bossy, know-it-all, goody-two-shoes Granger. To the days where he wasn't ashamed to have his arm around Pansy's shoulders. To the days where everything made sense, and the only thing he had to pay attention to was his task. But he couldn't even think of the task anymore, and that made his stomach churn. The fingers of his right hand trace the Mark and he shivers. He was supposed to be making preparations.

She was a distraction.

Careful not to disturb Pansy, he extracted himself from under her, lowering her head onto the mattress. She didn't seem to notice the change, burrowing further underneath the green cover. He pulls a pair of (also green) boxer briefs on before running his hands through his hair, pulling slightly on the ends before letting it flop back into place. He grabs white t-shirt and a (green) zip-up hoodie that's hanging on one of the posts of the bed and tugs them both on, before feeling around on the wooden floor for his trousers. His hands touch something, and he lifts it in the dark to find it's a pair of black Muggle-like jogging bottoms. He stares at them for a moment; he doesn't know exactly if they're his, but he doesn't know whose they would be if they weren't. With a shrug, he pulls them on too, yanking his hoodie down over the top of them, then slipping his feet into his (green) slippers, wriggling his toes against the warm Sherpa fleece that lines the inside.

The bandage remains on top of the dresser.

He exits the boys' dorm, the strap of his bag clutched in his fist, shutting the door quietly behind him as he leans against the stone wall, placing his head in his hands as he tries to figure out his thoughts. They're all over the place, and he decides that the best thing for him to do is go on a walk to clear his head. The clock in the common room tells him that it's now 7:45, so he has a good hour and a bit until curfew sets in. He slings the bag over his shoulder as he leaves, hearing Blaise call after him in confusion.

He doesn't know where he's going, he just allows his feet to lead him somewhere. He ends up at the top of the West Tower, in the Owlery, standing in front of an eagle owl named Meriadoc. The owl is named after his favourite character from his favourite childhood book, _The Lord of the Rings_, because as soon as Malfoy had laid eyes on the majestic bird, he had seen a piece of Meriadoc inside him – bravery, despite his size. The owl had obviously grown, and Malfoy had never stopped seeing the hero he had when he first got him. Malfoy sighs as he strokes the owl's chest, and it nips at his fingers with affection, letting out a series of gentle coos up at him. He holds his left arm out, and the owl hops on, nuzzling against Malfoy and away from the cold harshness of the wind that blew through the room. Meriadoc's talons dig lightly into Malfoys forearm through the jumper, but Malfoy takes no notice as he continues running his hands down the bird's feathers.

Malfoy looks towards the glassless windows and out to the stars that shone and flickered down at him. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, the coldness of the air sharp in his lungs, and the corners of his lips lift slightly upwards. When he opens his eyes, the first thing his eyes fall on is the Gryffindor tower. Candlelight flickers in the windows, and his mind wanders to the Gryffindor Princess, who is probably sat with Potty and the Weasel in the common room. An idea pops into his head, and he quickly rummages in his bag for some spare parchment and a quill, scratching a short message on one side and her name on the other, before rolling it up, with her name facing upwards. He holds it in front of Meriadoc's face, and Meriadoc lets out another soft coo as he offers Malfoy his leg to tie the note to. Malfoy uses a scrap of string to secure the note gently to his owl's leg, then points to the tower, whispering instructions to him.

The creature spreads his humongous wings and takes off, swooping and soaring towards the Gryffindor tower. He finds a place to perch outside and lands gently, hopping along the ledge to get closer to the window. He taps his beak against the glass a couple of times, hooting to himself as a shadow comes closer to the window, and the window is opened to reveal a girl with straight, flaming red hair. She stares at the owl in surprise as he lets out a low hoot, hopping inside and onto her dresser. He holds his leg out, head tilted as he continues to coo and hoot at her, and she unties the string that's attaching the note, reading the name with a frown. She can't help but reach out and scratch the owl under his chin, and he closes his eyes in happiness.

"I'll be right back." Ginny doesn't know why she's talking to an owl – he probably doesn't understand a word of what she's saying – but it seems the polite thing to do. She places the note beside the owl, and with a final brush of Meriadoc's fur, Ginny leaves the fifth year girls dormitory and makes herself up a flight of stairs, knocking on the next door. She pokes her head around the door and spots Hermione sitting on a wooden chair with her legs crossed under her. She's changed from her uniform, now in a pair of pink pyjama shorts and a purple t-shirt. The older girls head is bent over a book, and Ginny feels bad for interrupting her. "Hermione?"

"Mmm?" Hermione doesn't look up, turning the page over.

"An owl came for you." At this, a crease appears between Hermione's eyes and she looks up at her younger friend.

"From my parents?"

"No, this one's bigger than the normal Hogwarts owls… and it's only a small note with your name on. No address," She pauses as Hermione stands, before quickly adding, "I didn't read it."

"I didn't think you did," Hermione laughs as she tosses her book onto the red bed cover. "Where is it?"

"He's just downstairs." Ginny leads her down to the fifth year dorm, opening the door for her and allowing her to step through first. Hermione spots the bird instantly; he's still on the dresser, cleaning his feathers with his beak. One foot rests on top of the slip of paper as it flutters in the wind that comes through the still open window. Hermione walks up to him slowly, his head cocked as he stares at her. He hoots at her as she reaches for the note, and he nips at her fingers gently, making her pull her hand back.

She takes a moment to admire him. He really is a rather beautiful bird – dark brown feathers speckled with white, giant amber eyes, and long, sharp talons. "He's magnificent, isn't he?" She murmurs, reaching forward again, this time to stroke the owl's chest lightly with the back of her fingers. He lets out a coo, eyes closing, and he hops off the letter just as the wind picks up. The note lifts and is nearly carried out of the window, and with a yelp, Hermione jumps up, only just managing to wrap her fingers around the note before it disappears. She pulls the note towards herself, reading her name in the scrawled writing across one side. Ginny watches her from where she is now sat on her bed, making small braids in her bright hair.

"So, who's it from?" Ginny says in a voice that makes a subtle smile spread across Hermione's face as her eyes roll.

"I'm not sure," Hermione can't put a face to the handwriting, which is quite messy – as though the person had been resting the parchment on their arm as they'd wrote it. She flips it over, reading through the 3 scribbled sentences:

_Look outside – hi! Come meet me… and maybe bring your blanket. It's rather cold up here. D.M. _

The smile becomes a grin as she rereads the note, before leaning over the dresser and looking into the darkness that has swallowed the grounds. She spots the West Tower, with the owlery. A candle flickers in one of the glassless windows, and she sees the shadow of a tall boy stood inside the circular room, arms folded across his chest. She makes an exaggerated wave and watches as he throws his head back in a laugh that she cannot hear, and waves back. Ginny gasps excitedly as she pushes next to Hermione.

"Who _is _that?" Ginny squints into the night, and Hermione is glad that Malfoy is engulfed in the dark. She doesn't know how Ginny would react if she knew about their new forbidden friendship.

"Just someone we know," Hermione replies, tucking her hair behind her ear as she rereads the note once more.

"Let me see!" Ginny makes a sudden grab for the note and Hermione shrieks, jumping away from the girl as she crumples the parchment in her fist. Meriadoc takes this as his moment to leave, escaping through the window. Hermione sees Malfoy reach his arm out, and the large owl lands gracefully.

"It's mine!" Hermione shouts over her shoulder as she runs from the room and up to her dorm, laughter bubbling up in her chest.

"Hermione! We're meant to be _best friends_!" Ginny's whines follow Hermione up the stairs as she tosses her blanket back into her bag, hopping to the door while she pulls her red slippers on.

"We are best friends," Hermione taps Ginny on the nose as she passes her on the stairs. "That doesn't mean I have to tell you."

"You know I'll find out, Hermione! You know I'm good at that kind of thing!"

"You can certainly try!" With a wink and a kiss blown over her shoulder, she laughs, shooting out of the Gryffindor common room, trying her hardest not to run. After an eternity of pacing herself in the corridors, she finally reaches the stairwell at the bottom of the West Tower, and she runs up the steps two at a time. At the top, she sees him stood in the centre of the owlery, his back to her, and she wants him to turn so she can run to him and wrap her arms around him, her head to his chest, his heartbeat steady in her ear.

Instead, she walks slowly up behind him, and before he can turn to face her, she punches him in the upper arm, dead arming him and making him let out a high-pitched yell. "Granger!" She laughs as he whips around, left hand holding onto his right arm. "Why did you do that?"

"It's funny," she laughs harder. "Here you can do it to me." She holds her left arm out towards him and he stares at her sceptically, before taking hold of her wrist gently and punching her in the upper arm. "Try it like this," she takes his fist into her hands and pulls his middle finger outwards slightly, so the knuckle on his middle finger is further out than the rest of his knuckles. "Now when you do it, use this finger, not your whole fist," She holds her arm out again as he stares at his fist. "Go on."

He hits her again in the way she told him to, trying to not hurt her, and she doubles over, holding her arm. "Are you okay?" He's shocked and she flicks her head up, grinning manically.

"This takes me back to being a kid," she inhales deeply as she jiggles her arm, trying to clear the pain.

"Why?" He frowns, concerned for Hermione's childhood. She looks at his worried expression, shaking her head with a smile.

"Nothing like that! It was a playground game – trying to dead arm people when they aren't paying attention."

He leans against the wall next to the stairwell, his hands in his pockets. "Let me get this straight: Muggles enjoy going around and punching people in the arm… for fun?"

"No, not all Muggles, just children. And it wasn't just in the arm, you can do it in the thigh too – that's dead legging. Then there's chicken legging, which is where you kick someone lightly on the back of the knee so their leg bends… Oh, and the boys used to punch each other in the…um…" Her voice trails off and her eyes dart downwards, making his widen in fear.

"Oh, Merlin," he cringes, crossing his legs without realising. "So what I'm understanding is Muggle children are feral?"

She lets out a laugh. "Feral is a harsh word to use for children! You can't say you've never tried to hurt your friends just for the fun of it?"

"No, Granger, I can't say that I have." He finds himself smiling along with her. A second passes before he speaks again. "Granger?"

"Yes, Malfoy?" She looks sweetly up at him and, Merlin, his heart rate speeds up.

"What are you wearing?"

She snaps out of her stare to look down at herself, and her eyes widen slightly. "Oh my God – these are my pyjamas, I was about to go to bed and Ginny came in and, oh God!" She tugs at the bottom of her shorts, trying to pull them the tiniest bit further down her thighs. He goes to take off his jacket to give her to wrap around her waist, and freezes when he doesn't feel the bulge of the bandage around his forearm.

"Hold on – I'm sorry," she gives him a quizzical look as he turns his back on her and rips his left arm from his jacket. The Mark grins up at him, and he feels tears in his eyes as he presses his right hand over it, lifting his head up. How could he be so stupid? How could he leave the room without covering it better?

"Malfoy?" He grips the jacket in his left arm, looking back down at the jet black tattoo that takes up half of his forearm. "Draco?" The floor creaks behind him as she steps towards him. He feels his shoulders begin to shake as the tears leak from his eyes, he bites his lip to stop himself from making a sound and he tastes blood.

She touches his shoulder and he whips around, holding his left arm behind him.

She takes one look at his tear streaked face, at the blood on his lip, and she throws her arms around his waist. Her arms squeeze him as her cheek presses against his chest, and he wraps his right arm awkwardly around her shoulders, resting his chin on top of her head as he sniffs once, twice, before pulling himself together. "I'm okay, Granger."

As she pulls away, her right arm still around him, she reaches her left hand up to his cheek and caresses it. The touch is so intimate, so loving, he nearly breaks down again. He manages to hold himself together as she brushes his tears away with her thumb. "No, you're not, Malfoy." Her voice is small and quiet, and too late he realises that she's grabbed hold of his arm behind his back. She pulls his arm towards her and he pulls back, his arm facing forearm down. He uses his right arm to push her away from him, and when she staggers backwards he quickly pulls his jacket back on.

"Why would you do that?" She can feel the sting in his voice, the pain and betrayal as he stares at her with hurt etched across his face.

"Show me your arm, Malfoy." She takes a step towards him and he steps back.

"It's none of your business, Granger." He holds his right arm out as a barrier between the two of them. The tenderness from before has melted away into a cold hostility as he keeps her away from him.

"Show me your arm," she repeats and steps forward again.

"Don't," his voice breaks as he steps back. He doesn't want to lose the best friendship he's ever had. He doesn't want to ruin this. He doesn't want to hurt her.

He doesn't want to be the person they believe he is.

"Malfoy."

"Granger, _please_…" He's begging now, and his foot finally hits the wall beside him. A chilling breeze ruffles his hair and sends goose bumps running down his neck.

"Show me your _arm_!" She shouts, tears in her eyes. She needs to see – needs to see that she's just imagining things. She needs to know that he's not stupid enough to have actually done what her friends have been accusing him of.

He stares at her as fresh, hot tears run tracks down his face. "I can't… you don't…"

She steps forward again, and now his hand is touching her shoulder. Up close he can see her eyelashes are wet with the unshed tears. If he wanted to, he could count the freckles that decorate her pale face. He should push her away. He should do _something _to protect his secret.

This close to him she can see the different colours that swirl in his grey eyes – patches of blue and green that come together for that stormy grey colour. If she wanted to, she could tangle her fingers in the downy softness of his hair. She should grab his arm. She should do _something _to prove to herself that Malfoy is not a bad person.

His head falls, chin to chest as he exhales. She reaches out and takes his face in her hands, gently running her thumbs under his eyes to get rid of the tears. Her arms snake around his neck, clinging to him, with her nails ever so slightly scraping his neck as she buries her face into his chest. Her shoulders rise and fall as she begins to cry, sobbing into his hoodie and he wraps his arms around her tightly, holding her to him as though he's afraid of letting go. He rests his head in the crook of her neck, his soft grieving (for himself, for any possible or impossible future they could have had together, for her) joining her barely audible whimpering.

They both sink to the floor – luckily on the only patch of floor not covered in owl droppings. The straw scratches at Hermione's exposed knees as Malfoy clutches her.

When they've pulled themselves together, she lifts her head from his chest and sees the redness in his eyes. He slowly unhooks her arms from around his neck, and takes the jacket off, placing it on the floor to his right.

He looks at her with sad eyes.

He holds out his arm.


	7. Chapter Seven

Hermione stares at the arm in front of her in fear. He's holding it forearm facing down, his fist clenched tightly. She takes his hand gently in hers, brushing her fingers up and down his arm in a comforting gesture. When she finally looks up at him, she sees that his glistening eyes are trained on a point in the corner of the owlery, his mouth is set in a straight line as he tells himself _this isn't happening_. With one hand on his and the other on his wrist, she lightly turns his arm so that his forearm is facing upwards, never taking her eyes off his face. She watches as silent tears spill down his cheeks, and despite his attempts to keep his breathing steady, she feels the slight hitch in speed.

Still without looking, she covers his forearm with her left hand, her right taking his face by the chin and forcing him to look at her. "It's okay…" Her voice is like honey, and he shakes his head softly in reply.

"It's really not," he closes his eyes and inhales deeply, before blinking the remaining tears away. "If you're going to… do it. Please."

She looks down at her hand pressing into his pale flesh of his arm and hesitates. She wants to know – well not _know_, his reaction has pretty much confirmed her worst fears – she wants to see it with her own two eyes. But she also doesn't want to lose this version of Malfoy that had formed over the past few days. Yes, he may have been a prat, and a bully, and a blood purist, but the Malfoy she's known in their last couple of meetings is something else. He's changed, that much is true, and she would like to keep the belief in her mind that that change was for the better, not for the worse.

She should just rip the plaster off now.

She closes her eyes as she slowly removes her hand from his arm, and when she opens her eyes she looks at his face. His eyes quickly flicker to his arm and he lets out a noise that almost resembles a hiss, before he averts his eyes once more. She finally looks down.

The jet black of the Dark Mark stands out against his pale skin.

She stares at it in horror and disgust – she knew it was coming but she couldn't stop the feelings from bubbling up inside her – her hand lifting to her mouth. It seems to squirm against his skin, the snake wriggling and writhing as she struggles to pull her eyes away from it. When she looks up at him, she doesn't see the glorious triumph of a blood supremacist. She sees a child – a scared boy, only following in his father's footsteps. She sees a teenager, barely an adult, forced to leave his childhood all too soon. She brushes her thumb across the brand, and Malfoy shivers in her grasp.

He watches her with sorrowful eyes, and he knows that from this moment, everything will go back to the way it was. Or it will become something worse. He knows she won't let him explain (he doesn't even know what he would say). He knows that she will run back to the Gryffindor common room and – in an attempt to get her friends to stop ignoring her – will tell them how he bears the Mark. He knows that Potty and the Weasel will chase him tomorrow afternoon and try to hex him, or they will go to Professor Dumbledore and get him expelled.

He knows exactly how this is going to play out.

They sit on the stone floor for a few moments, her thumb lightly rubbing back and forth across the Mark, which is constantly leering up at him, reminding him _this is who you are_. After what feels like an eternity, she finally drops his arm and picks his jacket up from beside him. She lingers, holding it for just a second too long as she stares at the green fabric, the colour blurring as tears (how could she still have more tears?) begin to full her eyes. She drapes the jacket around his shoulders, and he just sits there, his head down, hair fallen in front of his eyes. When she leans away from him, he slips his arms back into the jacket, slightly calmer now that he can feel the softness against his arm. He stands, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and counting to ten, before striding across the owlery and picking his bag up. It is only when he starts down the stairs she speaks up.

"Where are you going?"

"Back," his voice is hoarse. He doesn't want to speak.

"Why?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"I think we should talk."

He shakes his head, tipping it backwards slightly as he makes a noise of rejection in the back of his throat. "No, Granger, I can't… I don't think we should."

"You're really going to show me _that_ and then leave? Without so much as an explanation?"

"I didn't show you it!" He snaps, spinning towards her. She can see the fire in his eyes. "You pulled my arm out! You _made _me! I didn't want to show you!" A lump forms in his throat as he presses his lips together. "We've known each other less than three days, Granger… You don't know-"

"You're wrong." She interrupts him, pushing to her feet so she is now stood opposite him, challenging him. "We've known each other for six years. Even if that wasn't as…" Acquaintances? Friends? Crushes? "Even if we weren't close, that doesn't mean I don't _know you_."

"You don't know a thing about me," he hisses, taking a step closer. She holds her ground, the stupid bravery of Gryffindor house.

"I know you, Malfoy. I know you didn't participate in the boggart lesson because you didn't want everyone to see your father step out. I know that you're incredibly smart. I know that you're a phenomenal quidditch player, and you're more dedicated than Harry. I know you don't want this!" Her hands are clenched beside her as she pleads with him.

"You don't know anything!" His voice reverberates around the owlery, making the owls rustle their feathers in warning. "Even if I don't want it, it doesn't matter now."

"So talk to me!" She's shouting back at him, anger and fear and a tiny glint of hope bubbling inside her chest. "Tell me! I'm here! I thought I made that clear!"

"That was before you saw what I am!"

"Don't say that." Her voice drops to a whisper as she looks at him with pity. He loathes pity. "That's not who you are."

"Oh, yeah. Like you know, don't you? How do you know this isn't a trick?" He moves towards her, and she becomes aware that he's now holding his wand in his right hand. "How do you know that our past few encounters weren't a scheme to get close to you?"

She eyes the wand nervously. "Because why would it be?" She makes sure her voice is measured. She doesn't shout. She keeps her tone calm as he looks at her with disdain etched across his face.

He scoffs, yanking his sleeve up to his elbow, and the Dark Mark burns into her mind. "With this? You really think I'm _nice_, Granger? After you've seen this? Maybe I noticed Potty and Weasel ignoring you. Maybe I saw how vulnerable and alone you are. Maybe I saw how you believe _anyone can change_." He puts on a falsetto voice as he mocks her and her brows furrow.

"You can't have done." Her tone is matter of fact.

"How do you know?" He's stood in front of her with their toes almost touching. She can feel the heat of his breath as he sneers down at her, and she looks up into his eyes and sees… nothing. Behind the stormy grey, Draco Malfoy's eyes are dead. There is no emotion, or if there is it is not anger.

"You weren't at breakfast this morning. You never saw the argument. You didn't know about the argument until after you'd decided to wait for me anyway." She hopes her face doesn't betray her fear of him. His hand twitches by his side and her eyes dart to the wand. "You don't mean any of this. You're saying it to get rid of me. The threat of your wand is so that I don't tell anyone about your… You don't believe a word of it."

He takes a step back and regards her, the bravest, smartest witch in the year, staring him down in only a purple t-shirt and pink shorts. He knows she does not have her wand, and so levels his at her. Like she said, it's just to keep her quiet; it's just to save himself. "And what if I did?"

"Then I'd do this." She suddenly grabs his shoulders and sweeps her foot around his leg, knocking him off balance. His back hits the stone floor with a thud and he groans, looking up as she stands over him. She places her foot on his right wrist and applies pressure, making him let go of the wand. She kicks it further away, and it rolls into a corner. She crouches down next to him, resting her elbow on her knee as she watches him groan, bringing his hand to his chest.

He smirks up at her. "You are…tougher than you look." She smacks him on the chest once, twice, three times.

"Prat, prat, _prat_, Malfoy!" He sees now that she's shaking, and her face is flushed of colour.

"Hey, hey…" He sits up and grabs her hands as she begins to hyperventilate. "Hey – I'm sorry… I didn't mean…"

"Why would you _do _that?" Her voice breaks as he rubs his thumb in circles on the soft skin on the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry, Granger, I- I don't really have an excuse." He continues rubbing her hands until her breathing becomes more regular. "I shouldn't have threatened you, I shouldn't have taken it that far, I'm so sorry."

She nods meekly, her bushy hair blocking her face from his view. Her eyes are on his forearm – though he doesn't know it – on the despicable Mark that seems to breathe. He forgot to pull his sleeve back down, and now she can't take her eyes off of it, or keep her mind away from its meaning. He moves his hands to her cheeks, lifting her face and brushing her hair out of the way. Regret and panic fill his eyes as he tucks her hair behind her ears. _This _is the real Draco Malfoy. Even knowing he isn't the sadistic monster the Mark promises he is, she can't help but continue staring at it, thinking of every possible reason he would have allowed it to happen.

As he takes his hands from her face, she reaches forward and gently tugs his sleeve down to his wrist. "Tell me." He opens his mouth to protest, that he _can't_. "I think you owe me." She looks at him with wide brown eyes and he sighs, running his hand through his own pale hair.

"Okay," he inhales deeply, eyes closed. He shuffles backwards to the wall near the stairs and sits against it. "Come here." He pats the stone next to him and she tentatively steps forward, taking a seat beside him, turned towards him with her legs crossed. She drags her bag across the stone and pulls her blanket out, spreading it fondly across her lap.

"Well, as you're probably aware, my father is a Death Eater. He's very high up, one of the _inner circle_." He puts quotes around the words and laughs coldly to himself. "The inner circle are the only ones who get those," he nods down to his arm, aware of how intently Hermione is watching him. "When my father was sent to Azkaban, after what happened in the Ministry, He turned to me. He told me I had to do…_something_, and if I didn't then he'd kill my family. He'd kill my mother." He looks at her with hooded eyes. "I only took the Mark to protect my mother. I can't… I can't lose her."

She sits silently for a few moments, turning it over in her head. He knew she was looking for a flaw, something to poke a hole in. "What does he want you to do?"

"I can't tell you that."

"What does he want you to do?" She repeats it in a firmer tone. He sighs and tips his head back so that its resting on the wall behind him. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I think I have a right to know after your little stunt."

"He wants me to… Merlin, you're going to hate me," he rubs his cheeks with his hands as he thinks of how he's going to word it. "He wants me to kill Dumbledore."

Hermione gasps beside him, her hand covering her mouth. "But… You can't…"

He shakes his head with a sad smile. "I can't let Him destroy my family. I know that he won't kill them straight away. I can't watch my mother get tortured. I can't watch my father get ripped apart."

"There has to be something we can do-"

"Don't you see, Granger? There is no _we_. There is only _me_, and _him_, and _Dumbledore_." A tear drips down his cheek as he thinks of his task. "I wish there was another way, but there's not. Believe me, I know."

She nods, before turning and leaning her back against the wall beside him. Her hands fiddle with the corner of the blanket in her lap.

"Granger, I really am sorry… For scaring you. I – I don't know – I thought you were going to run to those two, and tell them everything. I didn't handle it in the best way, but it's the first thing that came to my head and I know that's stupid and, boy, do I hate myself for doing it now… But I-I don't want to lose…this." He makes a motion between them with his hands. "This friendship, I mean. I don't want Potty to hex me tomorrow at breakfast. I don't want Weaselby to beat me up on the way to Quidditch practice. I'm sorry for doing that to you, I overreacted. I'm sorry. Again."

Her mouth begins to quirk upwards at the corners, and soon she's laughing into her hand. "You're not one for apologies are you, Mister Malfoy?" He looks at her with a confused expression and she laughs again. "The amount of times you say sorry – I mean I think I deserve every single sorry your little, wrinkled heart can find to give – the amount of times is just comical."

"At least I apologised," he grumbles, watching her from the corner of his eyes. "I thought that the more times I said it, the more you'd believe me. But because of your reaction I'm never going to say sorry to you again."

"Hopefully you won't do anything that requires you to say sorry." Leaning her head onto his shoulder, she reaches out and takes his hand in hers, tracing the lines on his palm with her thumb. "From what I've seen the past few days, you have a very unique defence mechanism – which consists of _if I frighten them or make them angry enough then they'll leave me alone_." He watches as she bends his fingers one by one, then straightening them. "And so far, it hasn't really worked, has it?"

"It worked with you lot for a few years; normally if I got those two riled up enough you'd drag them away." He rests his cheek on top of her head, that rose shampoo infiltrating his senses and making his mind dance in a haze of red. "It only ended with a slap once, I believe. In third year." He smirks against her hair as he remembers the frizzy haired witch backhanding him when he had mocked Hagrid.

"You were being a prat, like always. Sometimes you deserve a good smack." Her finger gently draws circles on the palm of his hand, and it takes everything in him to keep himself from squirming at the sensation. He tries to discretely pull his hand away from her, but she has his wrist in a grip of iron as she spins around, forgetting his head was resting on top of hers and knocking it into the wall. He groans rubbing the back of his head with his other hand. She's looking at him with mania in her eyes, her fingers tightening on his wrist.

"Okay, one: _ow_," he points to his head. "And two: _ow_, again!" This time he's focused on her hand. He's amazed by how her fingers don't connect as the keeps her hold on his wrist. She really was tiny.

"Draco Malfoy, are you _ticklish_?"

His eyes flash and he coughs. "What? No, absolutely not." He tries to pull his wrist from her grasp once more.

"Oh so, say if I did this…" She reaches forward with her other hand and starts lightly tickling his side. He bites his tongue trying not to react as the itchy sensation traveling from his side all the way down his side. His leg kicks out involuntarily, and her attention is drawn to his foot. Trying to be sly, she moves to his legs and he realises what she's going to do.

"Granger, don't you _dare_!" He tries to yank his leg away from her, but she gently kneels on top of his shin to keep him in place.

"Or what?" Her hands hover over his green slippers, a smirk etched on her face as they stare at each other, a battle of wills.

"If you so much as _touch_ my foot, I _will _kick you in the head."

"Consider it revenge." She rips his slipper off and attacks the sole of his foot. He can't help it, and begins writhing under her, laughing hysterically and trying to pull his foot away from her to no avail.

"Gr-Granger! Get o-off!" His laughter echoes around the owlery as he struggles beneath her, clutching his stomach as it begins to ache.

She finally releases him when he begins hiccupping, sitting back on her heels and watching him try to swallow the little noises. He looks at her with annoyance – or at least he tries to, when she's smiling, he can't help but smile back.

"You're evil." He says between hiccups and she laughs.

"I must have picked it up from you over the years."

"Oh, ha ha." He pushes himself to his feet, still holding his side where the stitch had developed from all of his laughing (or _tortured screams_, he tells himself). Her eyes follow his movements from where she's kneeling on the floor and she watches as he goes to the owl that had approached Ginny with the note. He coos fondly at Malfoy as he brushes the owl's feathers with the tip of his finger. Malfoy looks past the glassless windows and into the darkness of the grounds. "It's getting late," he once again retrieves his bag from the floor and turns to the stairs. Hermione bundles her blanket in her arms, following him quietly down the stairway. The torches are alight in their sconces, and Malfoy knows that it's past curfew.

They make their way through the corridors as silent as they can, the occasional slapping of their slippers on the stone floor being the only indication that they are even there. Malfoy hears Filch around a corner and shoots his arm out, pressing Hermione against the wall as he listens for Filch's retreating footsteps. When he is certain Filch is gone, they continue through the castle, stopping every now and again to keep out of sight.

Just before they reach the portrait of the Fat Lady (who is asleep and snoring; they can hear her down the corridor), he stops. "You were wrong, in the owlery." Her forehead creases. "You said I refused to take part in Lupin's lesson because I didn't want everyone to see my father step out. You were wrong."

"So why didn't you?"

"I didn't want to see my mother die," his eyes are far away as she listens to him. "I knew that as soon as I stepped forward it would change into my mother, either in the middle of being tortured, or dead on the floor. She's my best friend, I can't imagine losing her." He pauses, reaching out and taking her hand in his. He gives her a small smile. "_Now_ you know everything about me."

She reaches up with her free hand and brushes his blond hair out of his face, and his grey eyes seem to brighten just a tiny bit.

"Until tomorrow, Miss Hermione Granger." It's the same parting as before dinner, and Hermione likes that – the uniqueness of their own farewell for each other. He brings the hand he's holding to his lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. His lips linger just a moment too long before he pulls away, dropping her hand. He does a twirl for her and another exaggerated bow which makes her laugh.

"Until tomorrow, Mister Draco Malfoy." She gives him a slight curtsy, and for a second they both just stand there and smile at each other. They are both completely enraptured by each other, and yet both of them continue to refuse to accept it. He finally turns and leaves her stood alone, and she stands there for a few minutes before going to the portrait of the Fat Lady. It takes her a few attempts at screaming the password (Dilligrout) to wake up the Fat Lady, who grumbles at her that she _shouldn't let her in at all, with that attitude_.

Hermione doesn't care, and when she is finally allowed to enter the common room, she breezes up the stairs to her dorm and flops lightly onto the bed with a sigh. She curls up under the red bedcovers, looking dreamily out towards the owlery. Malfoy's candle still flickers in the window.

"Goodnight, Draco Malfoy."


	8. Chapter Eight

**A/N: This has been my least favourite chapter so far; I'm really not happy with it and I struggled in being able to keep it going, and finding a place to finish it, but I really needed a section where he invites her...somewhere (shh). I hope everyone enjoys reading it more than I enjoyed writing it. **

Hermione Granger does not see Draco Malfoy on Wednesday.

Hermione Granger does not see Draco Malfoy on Thursday.

Hermione Granger does not see Draco Malfoy on Friday.

Hermione Granger's first hopeful glimpse of Draco Malfoy even being _alive _comes on Saturday morning. By Saturday, Ron had (begrudgingly) stopped ignoring Hermione, and they are finally starting to get back to where they were in their friendship. Harry has become more comfortable around her now that Ron has started speaking to her again, and it makes Hermione annoyed to find out that she might not mean as much to Harry as Ron does. She follows the Gryffindor team to the Quidditch pitch, which is unbooked and free for them to train in until 2 o'clock, when the Ravenclaw team were booked for practice. The entire way there, Ginny tried to prise the name of her _mystery man _out of her, and Hermione had just smiled and rolled her eyes, refusing to let the ginger witch know a single thing.

When they enter the pitch, the team begins warming up and Hermione takes a seat in the stands to watch them. She holds a book by her side as she leans down to watch them on the pitch, and she sees them opening the chest containing the four balls. A sudden flash of green enters her peripheral, and she turns her head to see the other stands. The green appears again, on the other side, and again she turns to see nothing. When she faces forwards, someone suddenly swings down in front of her, making a yelp escape her. White blond hair points down towards the pitch, revealing a handsome pale face and stormy grey eyes. An upside-down grin is spread across their face. They aren't in their Quidditch robes; they wear a knitted green and grey jumper with black jeans. The only Quidditch gear they're wearing are their gloves.

"Hi." Draco Malfoy's voice is cool as he smiles at her. She doesn't smile back and his smile droops. "What, aren't you happy to see me?" He's still hanging off his broom, legs wrapped tightly around it, his hands almost bruising from the grip he has on the handle.

"Where have you been?" She hisses, hurt that he didn't even bother to try and contact her to tell her that he was alright. "I didn't know if you were hurt, or even _dead_. So much for _until tomorrow_ when, in reality, you aren't going to even show up to so much as sneer at me for three days."

He flips himself right-side up, leaning back on his stirrups as he balances himself. He removes his hands from the broom handle and Hermione makes a squeak of fear. His eyes widen at the noise, and when he sees the alarm on her face he rolls his eyes, before taking hold of the handle with one hand – more for her sake than his. "I've been busy."

"Too busy to send a note?"

"So what if I was?"

"I was worried about you!"

"Oh, Miss Granger, I can't believe you admit to having feelings other than hatred for little old me." He presses his free hand against his chest in mock-shock, before pretending to swoon and drop upside down again, both hands now back on the handle. Hermione lets out another yell and he laughs.

"Stop doing that!" Her eyes are wide, and movement on the ground drifts her attention past him to the Gryffindor team, still warming up. Only Ginny was turned towards the two of them, her hand shielding her eyes from the blazing November sun. She squints at the pair of them but can't make out who the person on – or under – the broom from her place on the ground.

Malfoy follows Hermione's eyeline towards the girl stood on the ground and smirks, unhooking his right leg from the broom and swinging it back over so he's now gripping the broom with the backs of his knees. He takes his left hand off and waggles his fingers at Hermione as she watches, terrified. "Don't you _dare_-" His other hand comes loose and he drops, his legs secure on the broom. "_Malfoy_!" Hermione lurches forward, reaching for him, and she sees him swinging, suspended by his legs. She leans over the barrier to look at his face and he grins up at her, waving at her with both hands. She lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, her head drooping into her hands as she rests her elbows on the edge. From where Malfoy is hanging, he looks back towards the Gryffindors who are beginning to mount their brooms, and now the whole team has noticed the eighth person on the pitch. Ginny shoots off first, and as she rises off the ground, she makes eye contact with Malfoy, who smiles and gives a slight wave of his right hand. She gasps, eyes narrowing as she makes her way towards them.

"Hello little Weasley, how can I help you today?" Hermione's head flicks up, her hair in front of her eyes as she hears Malfoy greeting Ginny. Ginny pulls her broom around, regarding him with scorn as he stays hanging from the Nimbus 2001.

"Leave her alone why don't you, Malfoy." The words are practically spat at him and he laughs, reaching up to grab the handle and right himself. He leans back on the stirrups once more, running his hands through his hair (smirking when once again Hermione makes that squeak of fear) before placing one hand back down with a roll of his eyes.

"If she wants me to leave, then I will."

Ginny's eyes narrow. "Malfoy, go back to doing whatever you do now that your precious daddy's in prison."

He grows cold, sitting up straighter on the broom. "Listen here, _Weasel_-"

"_Malfoy_," he pauses, looking to Hermione and seeing the warning in her eyes.

"I'm sorry." The words are grumbled as he rolls his eyes at Hermione. She gives him a look that says _play nice_. "What I _meant _to say was-"

Ginny interrupts him with a shocked shout. "Oh, Merlin!"

"If I could finish a sentence for once that would be great…"

Ginny doesn't pay him any attention, she is just staring straight at Hermione, who is trying her hardest not to meet her friend's eyes. "It's him isn't it? The owl guy?" Hermione feels her cheeks begin to flush and senses Malfoy's smirk at the exchange. "Look at me, Hermione." She slowly lifts her head and looks at her friend, giving a toothy smile that said _please don't kill me, Ginny, I'm sorry_. Ginny shakes her head in disbelief. "Leave us alone for a second will you, Ferret." Malfoy frowns at the name, going to fire at Hermione that is he's not allowed to call her _Weasel_ then she shouldn't be allowed to call him _Ferret_.

"Malfoy," Hermione's tired voice makes him stop. "Please?" He nods, flipping his broom upside down and diving to the ground. She shakes her head with a fond smile. He really trusted himself on that death trap.

"Oh my gosh…" Ginny's mouth is practically hanging open as the brings her broom closer to the barrier of the stand. "Please tell me it's not actually him."

"Gin, it's not-"

"How could you do that, Hermione? After everything? You're going out with _Malfoy_?"

"I'm not going out with him," she glances around, afraid in case Ron or Harry are in earshot of the conversation. "We're just…friends."

Ginny lets out a bark of laughter. "Oh, yeah, and I'm the Minister for Magic." Hermione rolls her eyes. "You can't be serious!"

"He's actually rather nice, Gin. If you would give him a chance-"

"Like his dads friends gave us? Like they gave Sirius?"

"That's not fair, Ginny. It's not his fault that that happened."

"How can you of all people believe he's changed, Hermione? After the years of bullying and ridicule and…what? Now you suddenly fancy him?" Hermione's cheeks flare the same red as Ginny's hair.

"I don't fancy him!" She takes a deep breath to calm herself down. "Look, he really seems like he's changed. You know I wouldn't have anything to do with him – I wouldn't be his friend – if he was the same jerk he always has been." Ginny folds her arms over her chest, then grips the broom handle with one hand when she sees Hermione's eyes bulge. It never fails to amaze Ginny how afraid of brooms and flying the other girl is. "Please, Gin. Give him… Give him five minutes. If he's a prat, then you're right, but if he's not you have to accept that he _has _changed."

Ginny considers it, then finally nods. "Fine. But if I _do _end up being right, you tell Harry and Ron." Hermione cringes, thinking about what would happen if the two did find out about her new relationship with Malfoy.

"Okay. Alright. I will." Hermione holds her hand out and Ginny shakes it, not breaking eye contact.

"You know I'm just trying to protect you, right?"

"Yeah, I know, Gin." a small smile plays across Hermione's lips, and Ginny doesn't notice that it doesn't reach her eyes.

Ginny turns and speeds back towards the players; Hermione watches Harry shaking his head at her and pointing to his wrist – like he's wearing an invisible watch. They begin practice and, just like during the real thing, Hermione loses track of the Quaffle quickly. Harry is on his broom off to the side watching to give them instructions. Ron floats around the goalposts, lazily watching the Quaffle jump back and forth before one of the Chasers tries to chuck it through. He kicks the Quaffle out of the way with ease, going back to his waiting and watching. Hermione gets bored quickly – not because she's an unsupportive friend, but because it's not as much fun to watch one team on the pitch as it was with two.

An upside-down face appears in front of hers and she shouts, nearly falling backwards if it wasn't for the pale hand that shot out and grabbed the front of her jumper, gripping the fabric in long, lean fingers. He grins a wide toothy grin. "This is a fun new way to scare you, Granger."

"Stop doing it!" She swats the hand that has hold of her jumper, then goes for his shoulder, and he swiftly dodges on his broom, still upside down.

"Why? The world's more fun this way around."

"Your hair is a mess."

"And? So's yours, but you don't see me saying anything." Hermione can't help the laughter that escapes her at his nonchalant statement. He rights himself again and, like habit, leans back on his stirrups to run his hands through his hair. He can see the desperation in Hermione's face as he takes a painfully slow time to adjust both gloves and pull his jumper down, before finally settling one hand loosely on the handle. She finally takes a breath. "Why don't you like it?"

"Why don't I like what?" She seems almost oblivious to what he's on about, and so he removes his hand again and she makes a whimper in the back of her throat. He sits up straight, perfectly balanced on the Nimbus 2001, but she doesn't care. It's like she thinks the only thing keeping a person safe on a broom is them keeping a tight hold.

"When I take my hands off the broom."

"It's dangerous."

"Why? You don't even use them."

"I still don't want you to get hurt."

"Well that's very kind, Miss Granger, but I can assure you I've been riding a broom for a very long time. I'm not going to-" He lets out a gasp as he tips sideways and Hermione screams, leaning over the barrier once more to see him upside down (yet again) laughing manically.

"Don't _do_ that!" Hermione shouts at him as he flips himself back upright, still grinning.

"Okay, that was the last one, I'm sorry." He lets his broom drift over the barrier, and when he gets beside her, he lightly hops off the broom, keeping hold of it in his right hand. He leans against the barrier next to her, his body turned towards her, giving her his full attention. "So… Why don't you like it?"

"It's frightening, to think of falling. Of the broom dropping out from under you…" She shudders as she thinks of it. "I wouldn't want you to let go and not actually be safe; I don't want to see you get hurt or- I just want you to look after yourself."

He rests his chin on the end of the Nimbus 2001's handle, watching her intently. "You don't need to worry about me, Granger," she opens her mouth to argue with him and he cuts her off. "Granger, I'm a safe rider. I know what will hurt me and what won't. I know it doesn't seem like it," he smirks to her and she smiles gently back. "But, if you're going to trust me on anything, this is it."

She sighs and nods. "Alright. You can keep your silly stunts but…around me at least, can we have a one hand at all times rule?" He rolls his eyes but gives her a nod, placing his hand over his heart and winking. She takes that as a sealed deal.

"So, what did little Weasley have to say?"

"She thinks you're using me, basically. I told her you've changed, she said you can't have. So I said she has to spend five minutes with you without you being the little brat you normally are." His mouth drops open in offence, but his eyes are shining.

"You want me to be nice for five minutes? You and I both know that's four minutes too long."

"If you're not, I have to tell Harry and Ron about our…" she hesitates. "_Friendship_. And I don't think they'll react lightly."

She thinks over what Ginny had said to her. Did she have a crush on him? She can't – he's _Draco Malfoy _; pure-blood extraordinaire, _actual Death Eater_… But he's changed, right? She shakes her head slightly, evaporating the thoughts.

"You okay?" She looks at him out of the corner of her eye; his head is cocked as he watches her deep in her thoughts.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, you looked like you were in pain," he smirks lightly, his blond hair once again flopping in front of his eyes. "I was thinking you internally tormenting yourself for being head-over-heels hopelessly in love with me."

Her cheeks begin to burn red and he grins as she averts her eyes. "You can keep thinking that, Malfoy. But I am _not _in love with you." _Liar liar liar_.

He laughs and the corners of her lips twitch at the sound. He places the Nimbus on the floor as he pretends to be hurt by her words. "Gosh, I don't know what I'm going to do with myself – Hermione Granger doesn't love me!"

She shoves him gently by the shoulder and he shoves her right back. "Oh, Malfoy, you know that if I was, I'd just have to fight your other fifty girlfriends in order to have the tiniest piece of your affections."

"You don't think me spending every waking minute with your frizzy-haired, know-it-all self isn't already the entirety of my affections?" He pushes his hair back.

"You do _not _spend 'every waking minute' with me; you completely disappeared for three days!" She watches him running his fingers through his hair, slapping his hands away. "If you keep pulling it back, your hairline is going to recede. Do you want that?"

"Not really… And I told you, I was busy." He pushes himself up so he's stood balancing on the barrier, holding his right hand over his broom on the floor. "Up!" The sleek handle shoots into his hand.

"Are you leaving?" Hermione curses herself at the hurt in her voice. He looks at her with one eyebrow raised.

"Do you not want me to?"

"No, not really." She crosses her arms over her chest as he mounts his broom, still stood precariously on the railing.

"But _they're_ back now," he sweeps his hand across the pitch at Ron – still guarding the goalposts – and Harry.

Harry Potter, who was watching the blond boy with a look of anger.

"He looks like he's going to kill me." Malfoy chuckles to himself, before seeing Hermione's panicked face. He sighs, positioning himself with both hands on the broom handle, now balancing on one foot as the other rests on a stirrup. "I'll go. Then you can say that I was tormenting you or something. Nothing out of the ordinary…" With a small salute to her, he lets himself fall. Hermione leans over the railing only for him to rush up past her, his warm laughter following him. She watches as he circles the stands for a second before diving and reappearing in front of her. His eyes are colder than normal, and she can see a plan shining behind them.

"There's a room, on the seventh floor corridor. Opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. It can-"

"The Room of Requirement?" She interrupts and he stares at her in confusion, before realising that she was part of the students that used the room the year before to train. He nods. "You want me to meet you at the Room of Requirement?"

"Well, if you're going to act like that…" He grumbles to himself and she backtracks.

"No, no, I didn't mean- _Do_ you want me to meet you at the Room of Requirement?"

He shrugs, readjusting his gloves again, not looking at her. "I'm just saying, if you _did _want to spend more time together – as friends," he adds the second part quickly, suddenly feeling rather warm. "I might be at the room at 7 o'clock tonight. If you want to meet. Not that you have to. Obviously."

Past him, Hermione sees Harry start to fly across the pitch towards the two of them, most likely to confront and/or fight Malfoy. She smiles. "Well, I might also be in the Room. Maybe. If I want to."

They both smirk at each other, before she reaches out and pushes his broom away, making a shooing motion. Harry is almost on top of them. He understands, letting himself slowly drift away. "See you at seven, Granger." With that, he turns and dives for a final time.

Harry is too close for her to be civil, and so she shouts after him. "Yeah, bugger off, Malfoy." He reaches the floor, jumping off the broom and turning to mock pout at her, before grinning and waving. Harry's attention isn't focussed on him, and Harry looks over Hermione worryingly.

"Did he hurt you? What was he doing? What did he say? Do you want us to-"

"Harry, calm down. He was just winding me up, like always does. I know how to look after myself, I don't need you and Ron there to fight all my battles for me." She leans her elbows against the railing, watching out at the practice. "He was just being Malfoy."

Harry nods, mouth set in a line. "That's what I'm worried about. He's been acting…_off _ever since we came back this year. I know you think it's stupid, but I honestly do think he's up to something. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to believe that maybe with his dad out of the picture, Voldemort turned to him to be his new minion."

"Harry, don't say that!" Hermione stares at her friend in shock. "Honestly, it's bad enough to hear Ronald saying that sort of thing, and now you're jumping on the wagon with no evidence whatsoever."

"'Mione, he's _always_ wanted to follow in his dad's footsteps. Now that he's in prison, it's the prime time for him to step up. He's _up to something_!"

"_You don't_ _know that_, _Harry_!" She shouts back, making Harry's eyes widen. She's shocked herself, too; she has never spoken to Harry like that. "You can't just go around accusing people without an evidence! He might actually be suffering because of his dad's imprisonment, but no, you and Ronald just want to say he's a horrible person!"

"He _is _a horrible person!" Harry shouts back, his face becoming red as his anger rises.

"That doesn't make him a Death Eater!"

"Why are you even defending him? After everything he's said and done to you?" Harry snaps.

"Because I believe people can change, Harry. Until you or Ron come to me with evidence that he is _actually_ a Death Eater, I don't want to hear it." She ignores the fact that she already has all of the evidence she needs.

"But-"

"Enough! We're done talking about this!" He stares at her with wide green eyes as she picks her book up from the seat behind her. "Harry, just give him a chance. Don't just assume the worst, because you haven't given him a second to prove himself."

"Fine," he swallows. "I'm sorry, 'Mione."

She sighs, running her hand through her hair and pulling at a few strands. "I'm sorry, too. I'm going to head to the library, get some work done," he nods, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I'll come meet you guys at two?"

"Alright," he smiles at her, and she feels loved. Not in the same way as when Malfoy smiled at her – for Harry she feels the love one would feel for a brother. "I'll see you in a bit." He turns smoothly, retaking his place as referee. She watches him with a pang of guilt: she had just defended Malfoy against her best friend in the world. But it's what was right, wasn't it? Harry was being crazy, even if he was unknowingly correct, and even then, it doesn't mean he's allowed to treat someone like that on a suspicion – especially when, this year so far, Malfoy had done nothing to the trio. If anything, he'd been keeping his distance, until Hermione started talking to him.

She exits the stands quickly, tucking her hair behind her ears. When she gets outside, she almost runs headfirst into Malfoy's chest, but he puts his arm out to stop her before she collides with him. He's wearing a long-sleeved green shirt, with the same black jeans. His gloves are tucked in his back pocket, his Nimbus 2001 slung over his shoulder. "Honestly, Granger, do you never pay attention to your surroundings?"

She pushes his hand away with a smile, walking in step with him towards the castle. She is reminded of the last time she walked with him, almost exactly a week ago, and how much he has 'changed' since then. "Honestly, Malfoy, it's like you're stalking me."

He gives her a toothy grin, his perfect white teeth sparkling in the sunlight. "Who knows, Granger. Maybe I am." He wiggles his eyebrows at her and she lets out a snort of laughter.

"Yeah, right. You're waiting for the prime opportunity to turn me into one of your little minions."

"Well, not anymore. You've figured out the plan," he smirks. "Where are you off to without Golden Boy and Weasel then?"

"The library." She pauses, wondering if she should tell him. "Harry thinks you're a Death Eater. I didn't tell him, I promise," she adds quickly as she sees his eyes widen. She draws a cross over her jumper. "Cross my heart. I couldn't listen to him go on about it anymore, especially when he has no _proof_ and he's just spouting harmful accusations simply because he doesn't like you."

He rubs the back of his neck slowly, thinking of what to say now. "Why does he think I am?"

"Because you've been acting _different_," Hermione rolls her eyes. "Even though that _different _is good as you haven't antagonised them all year – so far – he still finds a way to turn it bad."

"Why didn't you just tell him?"

"It's not my secret to tell." She smiles up at him, and he smiles back.

"Well… thanks, Granger."

"Did you really think I was going to tell them?"

He lets out an exaggerated exhale. "Well, Granger, I wouldn't know how good you were at keeping your mouth closed." He gives her a wicked grin as her mouth falls open.

"How dare you, Draco Malfoy – I do not talk that much!"

"I'm sorry I can't hear you over you being a chatterbox."

She swats for him playfully and he jumps out of the way, now walking backwards, facing her. The Nimbus is now slung across both shoulders like a carrying pole, his hands gripping either end loosely.

"What's that? The sweet sound of silence from Granger's voice?" He winks at her to show he's only playing, and her cheeks burn.

"If either of us talk too much, it's you, Malfoy." She reaches forward and pokes him in the centre of the chest.

"I'm offended you think I talk too much – I can barely get a word in edgewise around you."

They enter the castle, grinning at each other like a pair of loonies. She thumbs the pages of her book as they stand in the Entrance Hall, and she points over her shoulder. "I'm just going to…"

"Library?"

"Yep, that's where I'm off." She sounds like an idiot. Why does she sound so stupid? Why does being around him make it so difficult for her to form real sentences?

"Okay, let's go then." He moves past her, not touching her, down the corridor towards the library.

"Where are you going?"

"_We _are going to the Library, Granger. Do keep up."

She smiles to herself as she watches how at ease he is as he walks through the castle.

"And why are _we _going to the library?"

"Isn't it obvious?" A crease appears between his brows as he looks down at her. She's staring at him with wide brown eyes.

"Not in the slightest."

"Because, Miss Granger, I enjoy spending time with you."


	9. Chapter Nine

**A/N: This is just a filler chapter really, but I still hope you enjoy it as much as the rest of the story :)**

Their time in the library flies by too fast, and soon she's packed her things up and left the library, returning to the Quidditch pitch to see her other friends – her _real _friends, she corrects herself. They were there before Malfoy, and they will almost certainly be there after. Her Muggle ballerina flats smack against the floor as she briskly makes her way through the corridors, mentally counting off the remaining homework she has to complete before Monday. Behind her, she can hear the slow thudding of Malfoy's footsteps, his thick boots almost muffling any noise in his movements. The Nimbus is by his side, his fingers curled loosely around the handle as he wanders a safe five feet behind her.

A whistled tune reaches Hermione's ears and she turns to glare at him, only to receive a bright smile in response. "Stop."

"Why, Granger? Are you not a fan of music?"

"I am a fan of music, Malfoy. I'm just not a fan of dying cats." She flicks her hair behind her as she continues walking, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Excuse you, _Granger_," he jogs, catching up with her and matching his strides to hers. "I'll have you know I am exceptional at music-"

"Prove it."

"What do you- do you expect me to break into a song and dance in the middle of the corridor?"

"As much as I would enjoy watching you do a complex jazz routine, no." She stares wistfully ahead of her, not looking at him. "Just if you're so good at music why don't you sing something?"

"Oh, do come on, Granger. I'm not going to _serenade _you in the middle of the corridor?"

"Why not?" She bats her eyelashes up at him. "Am I not worthy of a love song? Gosh, and to think I actually liked you," she gives a dramatic sigh, coming to a stop in front of the doors that lead to the Quidditch pitch. "I see how it is."

"I never said you weren't worthy of a love song…" As he says the words, a blush spreads across his cheeks. "I just said I wasn't going to sing to you in the corridor."

"Well I guess you're not as exceptional at music as you claim to be." She grins, tapping him on the nose before pushing the door open with her shoulder. She hopes he's still inside and she won't have to deal with any more of Harry and Ron's conspiracy theories about him, but he appears beside her as the door bangs shut.

"I don't think it's fair that I have to sing to you and you aren't going to return the favour. I think it's apparent that the person not _worthy _of a love song in this relationship is me, Granger." He runs his left hand through his hair, and she hits his arm.

"Stop! Your hairline is going to recede!" She can't bear the thought of him losing his downy soft white-blond hair. "I never said I wouldn't return it; you're the one who is bragging about his musical skills."

"You don't want to hear any of my songs, they're all old and horrible." She laughs and he smiles along with her.

"Have you ever heard-" She bites her tongue before she says _normal_ – this is his normal. "Muggle music?" His nose wrinkles as he looks down at her. "Just – if you don't like wizard songs that much – then maybe you might enjoy Muggle music."

"No offence, Granger, but I don't believe Muggles could make music that can invoke the same reactions as wizard's music. Even if it is old and boring, it is still beautiful. Again, no offence." She rolls her eyes at his narrow mindedness. "What?"

"You have to be at least willing to try it – you can't say you don't like it without even listening to it."

He lifts his hand to run it through his hair with a sigh, stopping when she glares at him out of the corners of her eyes. He groans, dropping his hand to his side and clenching and unclenching his fingers. "Fine, I'll try 4 pieces of Muggle music."

"Just say the word 'songs'."

"I will try 4 pieces of Muggle songs."

"No, it's…" She goes to correct him again before she sees the smirk plastered across his face. She glares at him, eyes narrowed, and he throws his head back in mirth-filled laughter. A smile begins to break through her stern face, and he shoves her by the shoulder lightly.

"Oh, come on, Granger – relax! It's not like anyone's-"

"_Malfoy_!" Harry's angry shout cracks their happy little bubble in half. The grin drops from Malfoy's face as he runs his hand through his hair, Granger be damned. His eyes are cold and calculating as Harry marches towards them with Ron and Ginny in tow. Hermione watches his face, his mouth set in a straight line, a slight crease between his brows, and she knows he's prepared for any outcome.

"Malfoy," she whispers, but he makes a small, almost unnoticeable, gesture with his hand, signalling that _now isn't a good time._ She takes a step away from him and sees the corner of his lips lift into a smirk as he gives her a tight nod. "Don't do anything…" She hesitates, realising that Harry is probably going to be the loose cannon of the encounter. "Don't get hurt."

He laughs, still trying to maintain that straight, unbothered expression, but he can't help the smile that escapes. "Don't worry, Granger," he gives her a wink. "I won't let him touch me."

The trio stops next to Hermione, Ginny and Ron flanking Harry as he glares at Malfoy. "Was he annoying you?" Harry asks as Malfoy sneers at him.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Harry! Just leave him alone." Hermione grabs his arm, trying to pull him away as he doesn't break eye contact with the blond boy. "Why don't you all listen when I say I can look after myself?"

"Because he's a foot taller than you, 'Mione, and probably a lot stronger." Ron takes a step in front of her and she pushes him aside, glaring at him.

"And _I'm _a lot smarter." She growls back, grasping Harry's arm again and yanking backwards. Harry stumbles in surprise, nearly loosing his footing until he regains his balance. Malfoy smirks, looking directly at Hermione.

"Well, I wouldn't say a _lot _smarter…"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Ron steps forward, shoving Malfoy in the centre of his chest, trying to knock him backwards.

"Ronald! Will you just listen to me for once?" Hermione spins round to look at her three friends, glaring at the two boys. "I can look after myself. It's honestly rather insulting that you think I need you there to protect me."

"But, Hermione-" She cuts Harry off quickly.

"No, Harry – no ifs ands or buts – I can look after myself." Behind her, Malfoy scoffs.

"Oh, yeah, Granger. And I'm-"

"_Silencio_!" She suddenly whips around, her wand pointed at the pale flesh of his throat. His eyes widen as she glares at him, tucking her wand back into her pocket.

He opens his mouth and no sound comes out, and she watches him wordlessly scream at her, reading his lips (_How dare you use a silencing charm on me after you had the gall to say 'don't get hurt'! I swear to Merlin, Granger, you will pay for this later when this spell wears off._) She just watches him, her face blank, one eyebrow quirked as she waits for him to finish his rant.

"Don't make me stun you too, Malfoy."

He steps back, holding his hands up with the broom handle rested against his chest, mouthing at her: _do continue_.

"Look!" She turns to her friends, pointing at the silent boy behind her. "I'm more than capable of hexing him, or stunning him, or _anything _him if I needed to. But he's not a big enough problem for me to go those lengths – he's just an annoying, spoilt prick who enjoys tormenting me. It's less hassle to just let him prattle on to himself, because he gets _bored_, and when he gets bored, he leaves. I'm not going to waste energy on him when I know that when I don't give him the reaction he wants he wanders off."

"We know you can look after yourself, but-" Ron starts, but she interrupts him again.

"There is no but! Either I can look after myself or I can't!" She makes a noise of exasperation. "I just told you – he's just a harmless annoyance!" Ginny scowls over Hermione's head and the brunette whips around to see Malfoy pulling faces, mocking her in the middle of her frustrated speech. "Stop it!" The tips of her ears turn bright pink as she shouts at him, and he can see that not being taken seriously is a big thing for her. He drops his eyes to the floor, biting his nails.

"Okay," Harry takes a step forward, touching her shoulder gently. "We're sorry, Hermione. We didn't mean to upset you, we just thought-"

"No, Harry, that's the problem. You and Ronald don't think."

"Sorry, 'Mione. We know that you're capable of looking after yourself. It's just not easy to trust _him_," Harry glares at the blond, who rolls his eyes in response. "But, I guess we're just overexaggerating the situation." He pulls Hermione into a hug, and she rests her cheek against his shoulder with a sigh, hugging him tightly. Malfoy frowns, jealousy eating his insides.

"I know I shouldn't kick off, but… It's annoying to know all you see me as is a damsel who needs saving. If he really wanted to hurt me he'd have done it. But we both know that he's not like that – he's just an inconvenience."

"I know; we didn't mean to make you feel like you're weak. We'll know better in the future." He pulls away first, smiling at Hermione with the love of a brother. "As long as he is just being a prat," he glares at Malfoy, who narrows his eyes in response.

"If I can add something," Malfoy clears his throat, and Hermione whips around with blazing eyes. "Yes, Granger, it's worn off already. Maybe try a bit harder next time," the ferocity of the sneer on his face catches Hermione off guard. "The know-it-all is right – I'm not doing anything but trying to piss her off. And, by association, I'll piss you off too, Potty." He glares at the group, at Harry's arm wrapped protectively around Hermione's shoulders. His sneer deepens as he looks in Hermione's eyes, stepping forward so he was directly in front of her. "I don't think I'll have a chance to be an _annoying, spoilt prick _to you now that Potty and Weaselby are back to save the day." He spits, before turning and heading back to the castle, his broom gripped in white knuckles.

"Yeah, walk away!" Ron shouts at his retreating back, before turning to hug Hermione, burying his freckled face into her strawberry scented hair. She doesn't react, she doesn't hug him back. She just stares as Malfoy enters the castle without so much as a backward glance. "Sorry, 'Mione," he mumbles into her hair.

"It's fine, Ron." She turns to them, plastering a smile on her face. "He's just a jerk, a jerk I can protect myself against."

Ginny is looking at her weirdly, slipping her arm through Hermione's and dragging her towards the castle. "I'm just going to drop my stuff off. We'll meet you outside the Great Hall in an hour." Harry turns to Ron with a frown, and Ron shrugs.

"Probably girl stuff, mate."

Harry nods wisely at his friend's statement, clapping him on the back as he started around the grounds, no doubt to spout another conspiracy about Malfoy. When Ginny is sure that the boys are well out of earshot, she unhooks her arm from Hermione's, and punches her friend in the arm.

"_Ow_!" Hermione shouts, rubbing her arm as she glares at Ginny. "Why did you do that?"

"Why couldn't you have just said: _It's okay, Harry, he's fine, he's not doing anything wrong_ – you know, like you told me?" Hermione frowns at Ginny's impression of her.

"Because they wouldn't listen – not that you did either. They barely listened to me just then. And you know how he likes to rile them up."

"That doesn't mean you can lie to them."

"What, like you're not lying to Ron about Dean Thomas?" Hermione smirks as the colour drains from Ginny's face.

"You wouldn't."

"Try me," Hermione hisses as she opens the door and slips inside the building, Ginny close on her tail. "You can't lecture me about not telling them that I have a kind-of friendship with their worst enemy, when you won't even tell your brother that you're going out with a boy he actually _likes_."

"That's different; he's my brother."

"And Harry is basically mine!"

They both stand in the corridor, their body language dangerous, daring the other one to break first. Ginny loses, sighing and dropping her head. "Look, Hermione, I'm…I'm glad that you have a _friendship _with him. I'm not saying I'm not. But with the way he reacted…"

"I know, I know. I didn't think he would get so defensive… I didn't mean to be rude. I just wanted Harry off my back," she groans, throwing her head back, pushing her hands through her frizzy hair. "I don't even know if I'll be able to apologise for it."

Ginny nods down the hall where the corridor splits into a crossroads; a flash of white-blond hair was striding angrily in the opposite direction. "I'm pretty sure that was just him." Hermione turns to the crossroads, just missing him in his green shirt.

"Which direction?"

"He went to the right." Ginny shakes her head with a smile. "Are you _really _going to chase after him to apologise?"

"It's the right thing to do, isn't it? I upset him, I called him a prick, I was quite mean to him actually."

"I don't know, Hermione. This kind of leaves _friendship _territory and enters the _crush_ area." Hermione's cheeks heat up. "Honestly, Hermione, why do you insist on lying to yourself? Just admit you fancy him and move on."

"Ginny, I-" Ginny pushes her towards the intersecting corridors.

"Go on then!" Ginny waves her on, grinning. "Tell him you love him for me."

Hermione can't stop the grin that spreads across her face as she breaks into a run down the corridor, in the direction Ginny had seen him go. She turns left, left again, right, and then she sees him – moving steadily down the corridor – and her heart seems to burst into a beam of light.

With wide eyes and a feeling of dread she realises Ginny is right.

She's in love with Draco Malfoy.


	10. Chapter Ten

**A/N: :( Sorry this chapter is so short today, I haven't had much time to sit down and actually write much today, so I hope this short and sweet chapter is enough to satisfy until tomorrow! Lots of love to you all and I hope you enjoy :)**

Malfoy stops walking when he hears footsteps running up behind him, stopping down the corridor. He doesn't know whether he should turn, and so he just waits, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides as he listens for more movement. After about thirty seconds, the person begins a quick walk towards him, calmer than before. He spins round angrily, ready to flare up at them for following him, and his frown softens just a tiny bit as he sees Hermione approaching him. "What do you want, Granger?" Her eyes seem to brighten a tiny bit, even his glowering face seemed to make her smile that slightest bit wider. She breaks into a run, colliding with him at full speed. The breath knocks from his lungs as she wraps her arms around his waist, holding him tightly to her, pressing her cheek against his chest.

Her eyes close as she sighs, squeezing him tightly. He stands in shock, his hands held up as stares down at the girl clinging on to him. Finally, he lowers his arms, hugging her (not as tight) back, his pointed chin resting on her head, and he feels the coil inside his chest begin unravelling, bit by bit. She pulls away, grinning up at him. "I have something to tell you. I-"

He folds his arms coldly across his chest, his eyebrow quirking up as he sneers. "It better be _I'm sorry for calling you annoying, spoilt, and a prick_, otherwise I don't want to hear it."

She smirks at him, mimicking his folded arms and quirked brow. "Draco Malfoy, I am so _terribly _sorry for calling you annoying, and spoilt, and a prick, at a time when you were acting annoying, and spoilt, and like a prick."

"Okay – that's not a good apology." He shakes his head, turning to continue on his way down to the dungeon

"Oh, Draco, please!" She drops the act, grabbing onto his wrist. "I really am sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, I-"

He holds his hand up, brow creased, a tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks. "Wait, stop." She pauses, confused. "What did you just call me?"

Where Malfoy's cheeks went pink, Hermione's went beet red. "Oh, I-I didn't mean…"

"Granger," he interrupts her. "Stop. Talking. It's fine." He gives her a smirk. "It was just rather unexpected, that's all. And, you're forgiven – for the annoying, spoilt thing."

They stand there in a comfortable silence for a few moments, her hand still on his wrist as they seemingly forget where they are. Malfoy remembers what had initiated their current meeting, and (being a nosy little sod), he opens his mouth. "So, Granger, what was that thing that you were going to tell me?"

She drops his wrist like a hot coal, cheeks blazing. "I- Well…" She doesn't know whether she should tell him about her revelation. She should, shouldn't she? It's the sort of thing you tell people – that you're in love with them – to maybe speak it into existence, if he feels the same way. But, if he doesn't, what then? She'll be left humiliated, possibly tearing her entire group apart if the secret was released.

"Nothing, I just remembered reading something, and I thought I would tell you." He rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

"Of course it's something you've been reading," he slings his arm around her shoulder as they begin a slow walk down the corridor. "Little Miss Hermione Granger, never without her nose in a book." She hits him lightly on the stomach, instantly pulling her hand away as she feels the hard muscles underneath his shirt, her mind wandering back to seeing him undress in the Slytherin changing rooms.

_Get a grip, Hermione_!

"Granger? Are you even listening?"

"Sorry," she shakes her head as though she's waking herself up. "What were you saying?"

He chuckles softly, dropping his arm from around her shoulders, making her heart burn. _Please put it back_, her brain whispers, and she curses herself for being so weak. Her – Hermione Jean Granger – acting like this over a boy!

"I _asked _if you were going to tell me what it was that you'd been reading."

"I…" She struggles to make up a believable lie on the spot. "Well, it wasn't something I _read _read, like in a book. It was a…" A leaflet? A note? Graffiti? "A letter. From my parents." She mentally smacked herself – she wanted to tell him she'd read something in a letter from her parents? _You stupid girl – like that's not going to raise any questions_.

He frowns slightly, confused. "You want to tell me something you read…in a letter? From your parents?"

_Look what you've done_!

"I- Well-" She stammers, trying to think of something – _anything _– to say that will save herself from his scrutinising gaze. "They asked if you'd like to stay over Christmas?"

_They asked WHAT_?

His eyes widen as he takes a sharp breath. "They… Okay. Do they even know who I am?" Finally, a question she is able to answer.

"Oh yes, they know all about you." She nods, prideful in herself for being able to answer something truthfully. "They know that you hate muggles, that you bullied me, and that your father is in jail." She realises what she's saying and clamps a hand over her mouth, screaming at herself – _you didn't need to be THAT_ _truthful, idiot_!

He takes a harsh laugh. "Not exactly the best impression is it, Granger? So why exactly are they inviting me for Christmas?" He's seeing through her lies, picking them apart one by one. She wishes she had the sass of Harry, or the lying ability of the twins. But she doesn't.

"I… I told them about how well we've been getting on these past few days."

"And suddenly that makes up for six years of tormenting you?"

"They were against it at first… But I asked them to give you a chance?" Why is everything coming out like a question? Can she not make one sentence seem believable?

He laughs again, this time lighter, more towards her awkward facial expression than the words she can't stop herself from spewing. "Well, I just might take your parents up on that offer." He winks at her as they hit the entrance to Slytherin dungeon. "You know, now you've brought up the idea, I'm rather looking forward to it." The colour drains from her face as she realises that he's played her – now she has to actually arrange for her bully, the one she spent holidays crying about, to come to her house over Christmas as a friend.

"Great!" She forces a smile, swallowing her fear of asking her parents. "I'll see you at seven, at…there… And in the meantime, I guess I'll owl my parents and let them know know you'll be happy to join us."

"Oh, Granger," he shouts after her, giving her back a wicked grin as she starts walking back down the corridor (looking like she's going to throw up), back to Gryffindor Tower. "I'm ecstatic."


	11. Chapter Eleven

Draco Malfoy gets into his dorm and flops onto his bed with a dreamy sigh – not unlike a 14 year-old girl would do. He stares at the green silk that hang from the top of the four-posters, his eyes slightly glazed over as he thinks about _her_, even though he knows he shouldn't be. He barely even registers when the door to the dorm opens and Blaise Zabini slips in, leaning against one of the posts at the end of his bed with his arms crossed. Malfoy lifts his head to look at him, noting his untucked shirt.

"Who is she then?" The other boy drawls, no emotion on his face.

"Who is _who_, Blaise?" Malfoy asks, keeping his face blank and his voice bored. He knows exactly how Blaise would react; he would immediately recoil away from him and call him that horrible thing – a _blood-traitor_.

"The girl you're so starry eyed for, obviously." Blaise isn't as good at creating a blank face as Malfoy is, and so the corner of his lip lifts slightly into a one-sided smirk. "And I know it's not Pansy, so don't try to tell me it is."

Malfoy groans and lets his head drop back onto the bed, the soft mattress making an almost silent thud as his head hits it. "Why can't you just let me be happy?"

"Because you're Draco Malfoy; you're never happy."

"And you're Blaise Zabini; a nosy bastard."

Blaise chuckles, pushing from the bedpost and sitting on his own bed, opposite Malfoy, who was now rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands, groaning. He pulls his hands away and rolls his eyes when he sees Zabini now sitting opposite him. "Can't you just bugger off?" Zabini smirks.

"Well, we know she's a girl who probably doesn't like swearing that much – since when did you say 'bugger' instead of just going straight to 'fuck'?"

Malfoy pushes himself up so he's leaning on his elbows, glaring at his friend. "I'm trying to be polite, Zabini."

"So she likes politeness?"

"No, my parents just raised me well, unlike yours." He rolls his eyes again, before quickly adding: "And there is no _she_."

"You're a bad liar, Malfoy."

Malfoy doesn't answer; he just flops back on the bed, picking up his pillow and chucking it at Blaise, who deftly catches it with a laugh.

"Just tell me who she is, mate."

Malfoy wrinkles his nose. "Since when did you say _mate_?" He places his hands behind his head, crossing his legs at the ankle.

"Don't try and change the subject." Blaise tosses the pillow back at Malfoy. It lands on his chest, and he wraps his arms around it, hugging it to himself. "You _girl_ – obviously there's someone, or you wouldn't be acting like this."

"You don't know what I act like." Malfoy's voice is muffled in the pillow as he cuddles it.

"You're forgetting we've shared a room for six years now, and I've been with you nearly every day for those six years. But, no, you're right – I totally don't know what you act like."

"How do I act then?"

"Like an annoying, spoilt prick most of the time."

Malfoy lets out an annoyed groan as he pushes the pillow against his face.

"It'd be a lot easier if you just told me."

"Why do you want to know so bad anyway?" Malfoy snaps, flipping the pillow off his face and sitting up. His legs swing over the side of the bed, his boots planted on the floor. "Trying to make a move on Pansy? Like she'd want you."

Blaise frowns, and Malfoy realises he's said something wrong as he sees the anger flicker across his friend's (or maybe ex-friend's) face. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm inferior to you in some way? I knew you hated Mudbloods, Malfoy, but I thought that was too low of a thought for even you."

Malfoy holds his hands up, waving them a bit in a way to say _stop, I've messed up_! "No, no, Blaise that's not what I meant – I meant that I don't think Pansy is going to move on from me easily." Still wrong; Blaise's fists curl as he glares at the blond boy across from him. "No! I mean-" Malfoy lets out a noise of frustration. "I mean, you know how long we've been together. I mean that I don't think she's going to want to move on so fast. Not that anyone is moving on. Not that we're breaking up, or anything."

"I can't believe that you think you're better than me, over a girl. A girl you hardly show any interest in anymore, at that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I've seen the way you roll your eyes behind her back. How you look like you're being held at wand-point whenever you hug her. And when she kisses you, you look like you're going to be sick."

"So you're a pervert? Watching couples?" This makes Blaise chuckle, and Malfoy feels the fear in his chest loosen a tiny bit – he might not have lost Blaise as a friend just yet.

"It's obvious to anyone with two eyes!" Blaise reaches across the gap between beds and punches his friend in the arm. "Even Theo's noticed something's up, and you know he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer."

Malfoy sighs and rubs his arm, annoyed that the punch had just reminded him of Granger the night in the owlery, where she'd caught him off guard and 'dead armed' him. "Is it really _that _obvious?"

"Horribly," Blaise nods wisely. "Now tell me what's going on."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I just can't," Malfoy snaps.

"Do you not trust me?"

"Look, Blaise-"

"Either you tell me, or I start taking notes on how you look at and interact with all of the girls in our year."

Malfoy groans, rubbing his face before running his hands through his hair and tugging on the ends. "I don't want you to hate me."

"After your comment earlier, I don't think it's possible to hate you any more than I do already." The smirk on his face says otherwise – which only makes it hurt more. Malfoy held Blaise above the rest, as he was the only one who didn't go around blindly following everything he said or did, and his lack of respect made him admirable in Malfoy's eyes. If Malfoy really believed that Blaise already disliked him, he wouldn't have any qualms with telling him. But instead he knows that if he says he's going to lose one of his closest friends. And he can't even imagine that happening.

"It's…" Malfoy quickly scans his brain to think of a pure-blooded witch that Blaise would approve of. "Daphne."

Blaise's eyebrows shoot up. "Greengrass?" Malfoy nods slowly, internally yelling at himself for picking her. "I'm impressed."

"Yeah, that's… That's her. Daphne Greengrass." He hopes Blaise will see the warm pink tinge spreading across his face as embarrassment of having to admit his childish crush, and not the frustration and anger it actually was at his lie.

"Well, maybe crack on and break up with Parkinson. Then you can be with a girl that doesn't make you look like you're going to break something whenever she touches you."

Malfoy nods again, hoping the way he's pulling his hair isn't noticeable. "Yeah, I'm just trying to think of the right time to do it, that's all." He stands, moving to his trunk and pulling out a black dress shirt and black dress trousers, then a fluffy green towel with an embroidered _M _along the bottom. He picks up a bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap from a drawer in his bedside table. "I think I'm going to…go in the shower or something." Almost as an afterthought, he grabs his belt from his bedside table before he hurries into the bathroom that connects to their dorm.

He locks the door behind him, dropping his clothes on the counter as he leans heavily against the door, eyes closed as he calms himself down. Reaching over with long fingers, he turns the shower on, undressing as he waits for it to heat up. Before he steps in, he unravels his bandage, biting his tongue to keep himself from screaming when the horrific image comes into view. He throws the bandage on top of his clothes, climbing into the shower and letting the water run down his back, both hands pressed against the tiled wall in front of him, his head bowed. The soft white-blondness of his hair turns darker and heavier as the water soaks it, and he begins to lather it in shampoo until it becomes a foamy mess. He pulls his hair into a mohawk, head banging to an imaginary song (at least a song that doesn't exist in wizard music, because he doesn't know if music like this exists for Muggles – a small part of him hopes it does) as he cleans his body with the bar soap. The water soothes the muscles in his arms and back from the flying; the steam soothes his headache from his fluctuating temper and mood.

His eyes linger for a second too long on the Dark Mark as he rubs the bar up and down his arm. He shakes his head to snap himself out of it, quickly rinsing the shampoo mohawk out of his hair, slicking the now dark blond hair against his head. He steps out of the shower and clears the condensation off the mirror, an unexpected laugh escaping him when he sees his hair plastered back. He's reminded of when he was in first year – using unnatural amounts of product to achieve that style, without realising how idiotic he looked (he had thought he looked rather cool). He aggressively dries his hair with the fluffy green towel, flinging his head back and smiling at his reflection, now with his preferred hairstyle – messy, yet somehow still well-groomed.

Once dry, he pulls on a pair of green boxers (he hates seeing himself completely naked in the mirror), then stands back to look at himself before dressing. He notes the dark circles underneath his eyes from his lack of sleep, and how his cheeks look just a tiny bit more gaunt than usual. He sighs, rubbing his eyes in frustration. This mission was going to kill Malfoy before he killed _him_.

He shrugs his black dress shirt on, buttoning the long sleeves up first before the actual buttons on the shirt. He won't need the bandage on this shirt – there's no way anyone will be able to see past the cuffs. The shirt is just the right kind of tight and he smirks to himself in the mirror. He doesn't know why he's getting dressed up for this silly –_friendly _– meeting; he tells himself it's to make him feel good, not for her. The trousers are next, his shirt tucked in as he buttons and zips them. With the shirt tucked in, his slender figure is accentuated, and he feels a little bit better about himself (not that he's self-absorbed – he just likes the way he looks (which is rather self-absorbed)).

He tightens the belt around his waist, then his watch around his wrist. He pulls some black socks on, and leaves the bathroom; the shampoo and bar soap (dried using the hot-air charm) go back in the drawer, the fluffy green towel (still slightly damp) gets hung on one of the bed posts, swapped for a black blazer. He throws his dirty – not _dirty _dirty, but used – clothes into a chute in the corner, sending the clothes to the laundry. They'd reappear on his trunk in the morning; after six years he still didn't know how they were cleaned.

He picks up his wand and makes for the door before he hears Zabini's low drawl from the bed. "Where are you off, then?"

Malfoy doesn't turn, gripping the handle. "Just…out."

"Well, have fun… _Out_." Malfoy tries not to pull apart Blaise's tone. He tries not to worry about the insinuation of the sentence.

"I will, thanks." He swings the door open, escaping the dorm and Blaise. Letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, he pulls on the blazer, tucking his wand neatly inside it, before leaving the common room and starting down the corridor. He doesn't know where he's going. The watch on his wrist tells him it's just gone quarter to 6 – he doesn't know where the past few hours have gone, but he doesn't care.

In just over an hour he gets to see Hermione Granger again.

And he can't keep the smile off his face.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**A/N: Hi all! Sorry for no update yesterday; things were hectic! I hope you enjoy this chapter, I've tried to incorporate a song in to this one - trying out new styles! Enjoy! **

Hermione leaves Ron, Harry, and Ginny and returns to the Gryffindor sixth year girls dormitory at half past 5. She hums a tune to herself as she organises her things to begin getting ready (it sounds suspiciously like _Kiss the Girl _from _The Little Mermaid_). After treating herself to a nice long shower (and horrendously singing _Wouldn't It Be Nice_ at the top of her lungs), she painfully rips a brush through her frizzy hair, before eying the bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion that sits unused on her dresser. She weighs her options, leaning over the bed and snatching the bottle, generously applying it all over her untameable hair. It soon becomes shiny and manageable, and she is able to braid it, twisting it into a cute bun at the bottom of her head.

She opens her dresser, her heart sinking when she looks at all of her clothes. None of them really scream anything too exciting – but does she really want them to? Testing multiple outfits together, she finally decides upon a pleated checked skirt (which came to just above her knee – scandalous for Hermione) and a pink short sleeved blouse. She pulls a pair of black tights on underneath the skirt and slips her feet back into her ballerina flats as she lifts a black jacket from the chair by her bed, tucking her wand into the pocket, and leaving the dorm. She floats down the stairs in an almost-trance, thinking about her…friend, Malfoy. She almost doesn't see Harry and Ron stood in front of the portrait hole until she almost walks into them.

"We've been waiting for you," Ron mumbles, hands in his pockets. Hermione can see Lavender on one of the sofas in the common room, nearly twitching as she watches Ron not by her side.

"Why?" Hermione's pulse quickens; did they know? They can't know, can they? She scans the room for Ginny, and doesn't see her.

"Well, you see, we've thought about what you were saying-"

"About Malfoy just being an annoyance," Harry cuts in.

"Yeah… and we've come to the conclusion that you're right. These conspiracies are so stupid and… I don't know what we were thinking really. We just have something out for him I guess."

"It's all speculation, you're right – but you have to admit, he does seem _off_," Harry adds quickly. "Like he really is up to something."

Ron rolls his eyes. "Seriously, Harry? The entire reason we were talking to her was to say that she was right that he wasn't up to something and you're still going on about it?"

Hermione is hardly paying attention. She's watching a clock on the mantle over Harry's shoulder, watching as it slowly ticks past five to 7. "Yeah, Harry, you're right. Maybe you should look into it more – got to run!" She sidesteps them, slipping out of the portrait hole just as the portrait was closing. Harry stares after her in shock.

"Did she just say that we should be looking into Malfoy?"

Ron shrugs, moving to the sofa to flop next to Lavender. "Dunno, it sounded like it, which is odd after all the telling off she's been doing. But if Hermione says it, maybe that's the thing to do."

In the corridor, Hermione is trying to keep herself from running to the Room of Requirement, settling into a half skip, half jog sort of movement. She doesn't want to be late – well, late enough that he's decided to sack it and slink back to the dungeon. She gets to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy at precisely 8 minutes past 7; she curses the staircases and how they always manage to take you to the complete opposite of the place you want to go. Standing before the wall, she wonders if Malfoy is even there, if he's already been and gone, or if he just hasn't shown up at all. Trying to keep her hopes up, she paces the corridor three times, thinking about what she wants.

_A room which would be a good place to spend time with…a friend. And not be found by anyone but the friend. Please_.

A door appears and, looking quickly down the corridor first, Hermione enters the room as quietly as possible. A smile stretches across her face as she takes in her surroundings: cream wooden floors with matching wallpaper covering the walls; a cosy already lit fireplace crackling away to itself in one corner; two plush duck-egg blue sofas and a baby pink chair arranged around a chestnut coffee table; an entire wall of bookshelves. And the thing that makes her smile the hardest – a small stereo, with a pile of CD's and tapes next to it. The one thing she missed most about home was the music, something that was a constant in her house; one of her parents was always singing along to something on the radio, or she was in her room listening to her own music. She doesn't know how the room knows that this is what she misses the most, but she's glad it does.

She makes her way around the softly lit room, trailing her fingers along the spines of the books as she passes by the shelves. She pulls out a beautiful copy of _Pride and Prejudice_, settling into the pink armchair with her legs tucked under her. Just as she turns to the first page and is getting ready to settle down, the door opens, and Malfoy enters. Hermione can't help but stare at how – for lack of a better word – _gorgeous _he looks. A black shirt paired with black trousers and a black jacket – she hopes he can't hear her heartbeat from where he's stood by the door, but she's almost certain he can; her heart feels as though it's about to bruise her ribcage as she stares at him with wide eyes and an open mouth.

He doesn't notice her for about a minute, he's too busy admiring the cosy little room Hermione had managed to conjure up. By the time he spots her sat there, she has managed to snap her mouth – and the book in her lap – closed. He smiles, and Hermione feels her blood grow warmer. "Are you really so bored that you've already resorted to reading?"

She can't stop her lips from turning upwards. "Well, if you had actually been here on time, Malfoy, then maybe I wouldn't need to turn to a book for company."

He clutches his chest, feigning hurt as he collapses onto the sofa opposite her, one leg draped over one of the arms. "Oh, Granger, I'm so terribly hurt. I do sincerely apologise that you couldn't wait an extra ten minutes for me to arrive before your crippling boredom set in." She pulls the cushion out from behind her and throws it at him, but he catches it easily in one hand. "It's not like you only got here two minutes before I did, anyway…" An evil smirk crosses his face as she turns red.

"I didn't- I got here- I've been-"

He chuckles, tossing the pillow back at her. It lands at her feet. "Don't try and lie, Granger. I was down the corridor from you; I decided to hide around a corner while you settled in, and I didn't think you would get _this _settled."

She leans forward, placing the book on the coffee table and kicking the pillow in front of her lightly. "Is it such a crime to enjoy reading?"

"It is when you're supposed to be meeting someone."

She laughs, and he can't help but think about how beautiful she is when she laughs. He slides the book of the coffee table, snatching it away from her as she grabs for it. "No, Granger. It's polite to share."

"I doubt you've even heard of Jane Austen anyway; give it back." She stands and rounds the table, but he's faster, jumping out of the way and holding the book high over his head. She makes an angry noise, reaching for it, but he's just too tall. "It's mine, Malfoy, give it back!"

"I think you'll find, Granger, this book is actually property of the Room, not you." She glowers at him and he laughs, still holding the book in the air. She reaches for it again and he turns his body to the side, laughing harder at her efforts. "You can try all you want, Granger, you're not getting this bo-"

She suddenly yanks on his left sleeve, her arm slipping between his arm and his torso. The suddenness of the yank brings him down slightly, and he finds himself nose-to-nose with Hermione as she goes for the book. Her cheeks flare as they stare at each other, grey eyes locked with brown, her mission for the book seemingly forgotten.

His eyes flicker down to her lips, red from her constant nibbling, then back to her eyes. He notices the flush of red on the apples of her cheeks, feels the rush of red on his own, but he can't pry his gaze away from her. Her eyes are wide in shock, and he can tell she wants to move, to get out of the awkwardness. A small part of him wants to move away to, but a bigger part is telling him to stay. The arm holding the book drops lower, and her fingertips brush his wrist, sending heat coursing down his arm to his spine, and still he doesn't move.

He could do it, if he wanted to. He could lean down and kiss her, right here, right now. He could pull her into his arms and hold her as tightly as he could and never let go, not for anything. He could let her know how much she owns his heart, his soul, his entire _being_, without her even knowing it. He could.

But he won't.

He pulls away abruptly, coughing and pulling at his collar. He hands her the book back, smirking as she snatches it from him and turns away. She coughs slightly, fanning her face with her free hand as she tries to dispel the ever-increasing redness building up there. She _can't _do this; she can't let him see how much she wants him – how much she wants to be with him. She won't let herself ruin everything.

She spins around again, smiling at him with pink cheeks (an improvement from the tomato red). "So, Muggle music?" She moves to the stereo, her smile spreading as her eyes flicker over the covers of the CD cases and the cassette boxes.

He flings his head backwards with an exaggerated groan, his hair falling in front of his eyes when he brings it back down. "I thought you would've gone off this by now?"

"Nope, you said you'd listen to four songs." He moves so he's behind her, staring over her shoulder as she moves through the two piles. She can feel his warm breath on her neck, and it makes her hair stand on end. He smells of peppermint toothpaste and coconut shampoo, of green apples and expensive French cologne, of new parchment and honey. They're all unique scents that mix together to create _him_ – unique in and of himself, and this unique _only Draco Malfoy _smell is a smell she knows she will love forever. She is brought out of her thoughts when she can almost feel the sneer on his face as she flicks to the next album in the pile, bringing a smile to her face.

"What is _that_?" He asks, pointing to the album cover.

"It's _The Little Mermaid_!" Hermione strokes the cover with the tip of her index finger, thinking back to when she went to see the movie with her dad in the cinema when it came out.

"You and I both know that's not what a mermaid looks like; these Muggles just like to downright lie."

"It's a movie – it's brilliant!" She takes the CD out and places it into the stereo, clicking the skip button until she gets to one of her favourites. He frowns at the word 'movie', unsure as to what that is, and when she turns towards him, she laughs. "Oh, sorry. I forgot you're _uneducated_. We can watch it when you come for Christmas… if that's alright with you."

He had forgotten all about their little discussion earlier, about her horrendous lie that her parents had invited him to stay with them for Christmas, and her bringing it up makes him smile. Despite having only accepted the invitation to torment her, he was actually really looking forward to spending the holidays with the Grangers, and not _Him_. He did, however, feel bad that he would be leaving his mother alone with only his loony Aunt Bellatrix and _Him _for company, but he felt he deserved this tiny piece of normalcy in exchange for the chaos that was to come.

A nice calypso ballad begins to flow from the speakers, something like bongos in the background as a deep Jamaican accent fills the air. Hermione's eyes drift close as she starts swaying in front of him, reaching forward and taking his hands in hers. He finds himself swaying softly with her, a smile on his face as he hears the words.

_Sha-la-la-la-la-la my oh my, looks like the boy's too shy, ain't gonna kiss the girl_.

He takes his hands from her grip and places them on a safe area of her waist, watching her with awe and love and a tenderness that he has never felt for anyone – not even Pansy. She takes a step towards him, her arms drifting around his neck and draping there as they slowly sway in front of the stereo, her head resting against him.

_Sha-la-la-la-la-la don't be scared, you better be prepared, go on and kiss the girl. _

Hermione opens her eyes and looks up at him, a massive grin spreading across her face as the song continues in the background. Malfoy barely notices the music; all he can see is _her_.

_Sha-la-la-la-la-la don't stop now, don't try to hide it, how you wanna kiss the girl._

They stop swaying, stood there suspended in time as Hermione's Muggle movie-music swirls around them. Their eyes are locked, but he notices Hermione start to chew on her lip. That stupid little nervous tick made his heart beat so much faster.

Damn his parents. Damn _Him_. Damn the mission. All that he cares about is right in front of him. He hopes that she feels the same way; he's certain this is his only chance to _do something _about the warmth that always surges in his stomach when he sees her or makes her laugh, the pain expanding in his chest when he upsets her, the jealousy and frustration building up in his head when she's with Potter.

He doesn't want to miss his chance but he doesn't know if he should take it either. He doesn't want to ruin everything.

_La-la-la-la la-la-la-la, go on and kiss the girl._

The voice in his head is screaming at him: _Fuck it, just do it_!

_Go on and kiss the girl, go on and kiss the girl._

He takes the chance, and leans towards her.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**A/N: Hi all! Sorry it's been a while; things have been quite stressful recently due to the virus and lockdown etc :/. I'm hoping I'll actually have a proper chance to sit down and crank out a long chapter some time soon, but until then, please accept this short chapter instead. Lots of love to everyone - stay safe and enjoy! **

Just as he starts to lean in, Hermione turns her head to look at the stereo. The song has ended, the next one beginning, and Malfoy quickly pulls back; luckily she didn't notice his attempt – she was too focused on the change of song, which drew her attention away from him. He curse himself for being so slow in making his move as she unfurls herself from his arms and clicks the CD out of the stereo and placing it back into the box. She turns to look at him, grinning, and he smiles back – hopefully masking the disappointment he truly feels.

"That's one."

"What?"

"That's one Muggle song. How did you find it?" Malfoy doesn't know how to answer as he wasn't really paying attention to the song.

"It was…" Boring? Tedious? Anything that will rile her up? "Cute, I guess." He watches her as she leans against the table the stereo is perched on, once again flicking through the CD cases. Some of her hair – not bushy for once – has fallen from her bun and is in front of her eyes as she debates which one to put in next. "It's from a-" _What was the damn word_? "Moe-vay?" She snorts at his pronunciation, bringing her hand to cover her mouth as she laughs.

"Sorry- Sorry, I don't mean to- It's just how you said it," she snorts again, and despite the laughter being about him he can't help but smile along with her. "It's _moo-vee_ – like a cow, you know, moo? – _moo-vee_." And just like that, Malfoy sees his way to torment her (just because he likes her doesn't mean he can't torment her).

"Moo-vay."

"Moo-_vee_! Just like the letter 'V'. Moo-_vee_!"

"Moo-vee-vee." He grins at her frustration (she can't honestly think he's so stupid that he didn't understand the first time she pronounced it?), but she doesn't notice, still trying to correct him.

"No, there's just one _vee_!"

"Oh, I see," she lets out a sigh at him _finally _understanding; she would never be a good teacher if this is how she copes with students not understanding first time. "It's _vee_."

"No, you forgot the _moo_! _Moo_!"

He can't hold back anymore, and starts laughing – warm, bubbly laughter that comes from the bottom of his stomach, which he's clutching as he's doubled over. Tears come to his eyes and he feels his cheeks and chest burning from his guffaws (Malfoy did _not_ guffaw – he just laughed exceptionally loud when he was amused by something). She stared at him with wide eyes, not completely aware of the joke she was unknowingly the subject of. After a moment, as Malfoy wipes tears from his eyes, his guffaws become soft, irregular chuckles, it clicks. Hermione shoves him by the shoulder, catching him off guard and making him stumble a step or two backwards before he plants his feet, his laughter bubbling up again.

"You're vile, Malfoy!" She snaps, eyes wild.

"What, for a joke about pronunciation?"

"Yes, for a joke about pronunciation! You were trying to get me worked up!"

"I didn't _try _anything," Malfoy corrects. "I _did _get you worked up." She goes for him again, but he turns to the side and grabs her wrist. "Now, now, Granger. Play nice."

"Maybe you should follow your own advice, Malfoy." She yanks her hand from his grip, glaring at him. He smirks at her – trust Granger to get this upset about a tiny joke – and, when his smirk becomes a full smile, she can't stop her own lips from tugging upwards too. She tries to force her mouth into a pout but can't, finally giving in to the smile and rolling her eyes. He extends his right hand to her with a stuck out bottom lip and wide puppy dog eyes.

"Friends?" Her eyes flicker from his hand to his face, where he blinks at her with long, thick lashes. "Please?" Of course, this isn't what he actually wants to say.

_More than friends? Please? _

"That's the first time I've heard you use the word 'please'."

His brow creases in offence. "I've said 'please' before this."

She regards his hand; long, pale fingers with bitten nails. A silver ring, decorated with the image of a snake, is on his right ring finger. "No, I don't believe you have," she smirks at him.

"Just shake my damn hand, Granger."

"Well, if you're going to be like that… I suppose I'll take my friendship somewhere it's actually wanted." She goes to turn away and he instantly backtracks.

"No, Granger, please, I'm sorry." He steps so he's in front of her, hand still extended.

"Now that's the second time I've heard you say it!" She grins up at him, her eyes bright and sparkling. "And the first time I've heard you say sorry."

"I've said-" He's baffled, completely and utterly, and he doesn't see that she's playing the exact same game he was playing just minutes ago. "I've said sorry before!"

"Oh, Malfoy, I don't like your tone."

"Look- I'm sorry for shouting," she goes to open her mouth (_That's two 'sorry's_!) but he gets his next words out quickly to stop her from being able to say it. "Friends? Even though I was horrid."

"There's no _was _about it; you're always horrid." Regardless, she reaches out and grabs his hand firmly – he hopes she doesn't notice how suddenly sweaty his hand has gotten now that she's touched it. She shakes it (up, down, release), and her fingers softly glide across his as she lets go. He smirks at her, running his hand through his hair, his shirt tugging where it was tucked into his trousers.

Hermione can't stop the blush that spreads across her face when she sees the shirt stretched tight across his torso. She averts her eyes, looking down at her cupped hands instead, and the silver ring hidden between them, smiling to herself. He surely won't notice, will he? It didn't seem like he took much notice in the ring anyway, so she slips it onto her right ring finger. It's miles too big for her, but it doesn't matter – she'll give it back before she leaves for the common room.

He picks up the abandoned pile of CDs. He gets bored of them and turns to the cassettes, quickly finding one he likes the look of and placing the rest on the table next to him as Hermione perches herself on the arm of a blue sofa, crossing her legs at the ankles as she watches him. He holds it up so she can see the cover, and she grins. "Oh, I love this one!" She remembers to being a child – probably from seven until she came to Hogwarts – and her dad constantly playing the soundtrack in the car.

"I just like that this person looks like me," he answers, pointing to a person on the cover with short blonde hair and a slightly less pointed face than his.

"Oh, that's Watts!" Hermione smiles to herself as he nods approvingly at the image.

"Watts is a cool name – he must be cool, just like me." He jokingly runs a hand through his hair, biting his lip in an overexaggerated attempt at seduction. Hermione laughs, standing and grabbing the album from him, moving to the stereo.

"Oh, yeah. Watts is super cool. _She_ is the best character." Malfoy falters.

"I'm sorry – she?"

"Yes, Malfoy, can't you tell?" She waves the plastic case in front of him and he snatches it, staring at it. _Of course_. It's so obviously clear now that she's mentioned it.

"Well… She's cool, for a girl."

"For a girl? Really, Malfoy?"

"What's so wrong about that?"

"Girls don't need to be like boys to be cool. Girls can be cool on their own. Don't tell me you're a sexist as well as a racist." She whips round as soon as she says it: _stupid girl, don't you know when to keep your mouth closed_?

His face has drained of colour and he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. "You think I'm sexist? And racist?" He drops onto the sofa, eyes flickering away from her, an empty gaze staring into the corner of their little haven.

"No, Malfoy, I didn't mean-" She sighs, kneeling on the sofa next to him, her knees facing him, her attention focuses solely on _him_. Not the opening notes of _Do Anything _by Pete Shelley, not the crackling fire, not _anything _but him. "I didn't mean that. You know I didn't."

"Do I? Do I really know what you think of me?"

"I was trying to make a joke, and it wasn't funny – I should've known better. I don't think you're racist, or sexist," she pauses, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt as it lays across her legs. "Well, not anymore at least."

"Oh, that's great, isn't it? That you used to think it," his voice breaks slightly and he turns his head away from her, nose wrinkling as he tries to keep himself calm; he can't let himself get upset. Not in front of her.

She grabs his chin lightly with her right hand, turning his head so he's looking at her once more. Her fingertips linger on the soft skin of his cheek. "Yes! Because I don't think it anymore! It means you've changed, Malfoy. Even if that's just a tiny bit – I'm not really sure how much _change _you've made yet – but even if it's just a teeny tiny change, it's _something_."

"I'm not… I'm not bad. At least, I'm trying not to be. I want to be better," he swallows the next part of that sentence, the _for you_ that was about to involuntarily leap out of his mouth. He reaches up and places his left hand over hers, pulling her hand from his cheek and taking it into his lap, running the pad of his thumb absently over her knuckles. "I don't want to go to the…to the _Dark Side_, I guess."

She lets out a muffled laugh, which she tries (and fails) to disguise as a cough, but he's looking at her with a confused expression. Trying to supress her smile, she deepens her voice and makes an exaggerated _keee hooo_ sound as she breathes in and out, reaching her free hand towards him. "_If only you knew the power of the Dark Side_." His eyes widen and he leans away from her hand; her top two fingers and thumb making a claw-like shape while her bottom two are curled in towards her palm, her hand shaking slightly as a look of concentration overcomes her face, the _keee hooo_'s only getting louder.

"What are you… What are you doing?" He's now basically sat on the arm of the sofa as he moves away from her, and she feels the heat in her cheeks as she drops her arm, a small smile playing on her lips.

"It's from an old movie – _moo-vee_," she adds when he sees him start to smile at the word. "It was one of my dad's favourites when I was little."

"Will we…watch that one at Christmas, too?" He feels awkward asking the question – willingly wanting to learn about Muggles was something foreign to him, but if it was with her then he was willing to sit down and learn everything she wanted him to.

She laughs, unfolding her legs from under her and pulling her shoes off, dropping them to the floor. "If you want to, then I don't see why not."

"Of course I do." His voice is soft as he shuffles back over towards her.

"Malfoy, I really am sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it – not one bit." He can see the sincerity in her eyes.

"I know." He pulls her towards him, his arms around her waist as he hugs her tight and close, his cheek against the side of her head. She hugs him back, and he feels himself freeze when – as he pulls away – she places a light kiss on his cheek.

She twists herself around, legs draped over the arm of the chair, and she rests her head in his lap (she can't see how Malfoy's cheeks go beet red instead of their usual pink), reaching behind her and pulling out the bobble keeping her braided bun in place. She begins undoing the braid as she gobs up to him about Merlin knows what. All he knows is _Hermione Granger kissed me – on the cheek, but still_.

He starts running his fingers through her hair, absently humming along to the song that had started on the stereo.

Hermione closes her eyes and sighs, the music washing over her as she finishes what she was talking about – what was she talking about? She doesn't remember, all she remembers is the soft feel of Malfoy's cheek under her lips as she had pressed that kiss against it. Although a small part of her is cursing herself for it (_stupid girl, you're going to ruin everything_), a bigger part is proud of herself for doing it, for taking the leap into the unknown. She knows she didn't scare him off; why would he be playing with her hair if he hated it? Why hadn't he blown up?

But she couldn't let herself go any further than that. She couldn't let her potentially sabotage herself and her friends – yes, Malfoy has changed _a bit_, but was that change enough? She wanted to tell herself it was, but she still wasn't certain of his true intentions. He swears there isn't any, and large chunk of her believes him, but that little voice keeps whispering _but what if_…?

Hermione's eyes become heavier, so she keeps them closed, and her breathing becomes softer and more regular. He's making a tiny (messy) plait out of three tiny sections of her hair, still humming along to the song. She opens her eyes for a second before they flutter closed again.

The last thing she sees before she slips under the heavy blanket of sleep is Malfoy's grey eyes – light, and full of adoration as he looks down at her – and a smile playing on his lips.

The last thing she hears before sleep overwhelms her is the song by Lick the Tins that plays in the background.

_Would it be a sin? If I can't help falling in love with you. _


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**A/N: Hi all! Thank you for being patient! I'm very sorry it's taken so long for me to upload, but I think that it's best for me to take my time uploading, as with everyday uploads I've been finding myself becoming burnt out from trying to force things. I hope you guys can understand. So from now on, uploads will be every 2-4 days, if that's okay :) **

**I also had a review saying that my last chapter was an "AVPM allusion"; I'm not really sure what this is referring too as I haven't seen A Very Potter Musical, I've only heard the song Granger Danger. I have a feeling it's regarding the Star Wars part that I included, but I can assure you that is nothing to do with AVPM - it was a cute idea I thought up when I was messing on with some writing exercises, and since the story takes place in 1996, a very common thing for lots of kids in the 1990s and even the 2000s was quoting Star Wars. I feel like this fits Hermione well as I see her as a huge nerd and she definitely grew up with Star Wars before she even went to Hogwarts. **

**Okay, I think I've addressed everything; I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Lots of love, CrazyAsACupcake**

Hermione wakes up around two hours later to the sound of swearing; she's curled on her side, facing the sofa cushions, her arms tucked underneath her head with her fingers tangled in her hair. Her hair, which is a mess, but thankfully the Sleekeazy's meant it was slightly less of a mess than normal. Her eyes were blurry as she sat up, confusion hitting her full force as she tried to understand her surroundings, and when she sees Malfoy, his back to her, she starts, before remembering. She was in the Room of Requirement, with Draco Malfoy. She almost kissed him. _He _almost kissed _her_.

She watched him fiddle with the stereo on the table, cursing to himself as he pressed random buttons, slamming his hand against the top of it. "Come on, you stupid thing!" He hisses at it under his breath. The stereo is making a whirring noise of protest.

"You okay?" He spins round and sees her, with her bleary eyes and her red cheeks, her messy hair and her creased shirt, and a smile grows on his face.

"Morning," he grins, his heart pounding against his ribs. She smiles wearily back – obviously still tired – and reaches up to wipe her eyes with the heels of her hands. The silver of Malfoy's ring catches the dim light, shining softly, and Malfoy's eyes glint back as he looks down at his own hand. He smirks at her. "You've got some nerve, Granger."

"What are you-" She stares at him, brows drawn in confusion, before her eyes flicker down to her hand. "Oh," she laughs lightly, pulling the too-big ring from her finger and tossing it to him. He catches it easily and slips it back on.

"I never said you had to give it back." She opens her mouth to protest, leaning forwards and over the arm of the sofa to reach for his ring again. He pulls out of the way, holding his hand in the air near his head. "No, Granger, I never _said _you had to give it back, but you did, so I'm keeping it." With a last smirk at her pouting face, he turns back to the stereo, still pressing random buttons.

"What are you doing?" She leans her head on her hands, resting her elbows on the arm of the sofa as she stares at his back. He's removed his blazer at some point when she was asleep, and his dress shirt is just the right kind of tight, showing his lithe Seeker's body. She longs to reach out, run her hands up his waist, towards his chest, to wrap her arms around him and hold him close to her. She wants to latch on to him and never let go, to keep him safe from the terrors that were yet to come.

"I'm trying to figure this bloody thing out," he takes a step back and runs both hands through his hair, resting them at the base of his skull. His shirt stretches slightly, and a corner pulls from his trousers as he throws his hands in the air, glaring at the stereo. For a second, Hermione is transfixed on quick flash of his pale back, before he turns to her, arms dropped, shirt fallen back down. "It's a nightmare."

The stereo continues its sad whirs as she just stares at him.

"Granger?"

"Sorry, um…" Her eyes flicker away from his face, looking past him to the sorry machine on the table behind him. She leans forward, pointing at it. "That button…with the triangle that points upwards, and the line underneath." He turns back, pointing at the eject button near the CD tray. "No, the other one. The one above it."

He presses the button, and the cassette player pops open, the melancholy noise finally stopping. Gently, he removes the cassette, slipping it back into its case with a look of concentration that Hermione can't help smiling at. He looks over his shoulder at her, puzzled by her smile. "What?"

"Nothing… It's just-" _It's cute to see you handling them with such care, like the slightest movement will break them. _"It's funny, to see you with Muggle things."

"Well, _Granger_, it was funny to see you in first year with wizard things." She opens her mouth to protest and he leans towards her, his hands resting on the arm of the chair just outside where her elbows are resting. "And it was funnier to see the look on Weasley's face every time you were better than him."

They're inches apart, almost nose-to-nose, and Hermione hopes he doesn't notice the hitch in her breath, or the way her eyes keep flickering from his mesmerising grey eyes to his upturned lips.

She hopes he doesn't notice how fast she's falling for him – spiralling head over heels, just like Alice did in her favourite childhood story – and she hopes, she wishes, she dreams of the impossible thing: that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that he might be falling for her too.

"And it was funnier for _me _to see the look on _yours_, every single lesson, from first year until…" She pretends to think, her finger on her chin. "Now?"

He laughs (or scoffs), and pushes himself back from the sofa, walking to the fireplace. Hermione wants to say _no, wait, don't go, please come back and stand here, nose-to-nose with me forever_, before mentally smacking herself. She flops backwards, laying across the sofa, her legs draped across the arm. She's watching him again, taking him apart piece by piece and putting him back together, searing the image of his silhouette into her brain. Something about the scenario seems like the end of a fairy story; the princess is saved by the prince and they live happily ever after, in a cosy little castle with books, a warm fire, music, and enough love for each other to last a thousand lifetimes. Hermione can't help turning the idea over in her head, dissecting it. This can't possibly be a fairy story, for she is not a princess, and she definitely does not need saving.

But he does.

Draco Malfoy – so-called Slytherin Prince – needed saving: from his father, from the Death Eaters, from Voldemort. Or, maybe mostly, saving from himself.

Maybe in this fairy story, the prince is the one who needs saving. And maybe Hermione was just the right person for it.

"So, Granger, what's the plan?" She snaps out of her thoughts, her eyes focusing on him stood opposite her, hands in his trouser pockets. "Back to the common room?"

"Not yet," she says the words a tiny bit too fast. "I mean, we can spend a little more time here, right?"

"It's past nine, Granger. We're now out past curfew." He wiggles his brows suggestively at her and she laughs, propping herself up by her elbows.

"No one knows we're here."

"My, my, little Miss Hermione Granger breaking the rules?" He puts a hand to his heart, pretending to swoon. "I'll make a Slytherin out of you, yet."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "You don't know a thing about me and rule breaking, Malfoy."

"Oh, yeah?" He crosses his arms, the firelight making his already-breathtaking eyes seem to dance. "Tell me."

"I…" _I made a Polyjuice Potion in the girl's bathroom in second year. I used a time-turner to get to all of my lessons in third year. I helped create a technically illegal school club in fifth year. _"You know everything we've done."

"No, no, no, Granger. You can't brag and then refuse to tell me about all your secret rule breaking." He crosses to the sofa in two long legged strides, pushing her feet off the arm of the chair and dropping beside her. "You have to now."

Hermione nibbles on her lip as a voice whines in the back of her mind. _I don't want you to hate me_.

"Granger," he sings, tugging on one of her messy curls. She swats his hand away and he laughs, that warm cheery laugh that makes her stomach twist because she _can't_. His arm rests along the back of the sofa behind her. "Come on. One thing."

"One thing," she repeats, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. His eyes are closed, and his face is calm as he nods. "I brewed a Polyjuice Potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom when we were in second year."

His eyes snap open and he all but lurches forward, looking at her with open mouthed shock etched across his features. "You did _what_?"

"I brewed a Polyjuice Potion."

"When we were _twelve_?"

"Well, I was thirteen but-"

"And how did that go for you?" He starts to smirk as he watches the heat flaring in her cheeks, her eyes looking everywhere but at him.

"It went well for the boys…"

His brows furrow. "Wait, so you, Potty, _and _Weasel all took Polyjuice Potion when you were twelve."

"Thirteen."

"Right, whatever. But, why?"

"Um…" _They thought you were the heir of Slytherin._ "Fun?"

He shook his head, running his hand through his hair. "No, _you_ wouldn't break rules for fun. Tell me." He pokes her lightly in the cheek with his finger, and for once she doesn't hit him away. She wishes he'd caress her cheek, but he doesn't, instead draping his arm again over the back of the sofa. "Come on, Granger, you know you want to."

"We – well, _they_ – thought that maybe…you were the heir of Slytherin. That you were the one going around and attacking the Muggle-borns."

Time seems to stop for a second as she waits for his reaction. He frowns, before bursting into a fit of laughter – the kind that has tears running down your face, and no matter what you can't stop yourself from smiling. "That is honestly the best thing I've ever heard. They really thought I had the guts to try and kill 4 people? _At twelve_?" His laughter keeps bubbling out of him, and he's clutching his side as he tries to steady his breathing, small giggles and chuckles still erupting from him as he tries to straighten his face.

"Well, you did say '_You'll be next-'"_ She doesn't even get to finish the quote before he bursts again, his laughter warm and light and echoing around the room. It wraps itself around her heart and squeezes tightly.

"They thought _I_ was the one trying to kill people because of a stupid-" _Wheeze_. "Comment I made to big myself up to-" _Wheeze_. "My friends?" She can't help but smile at his reaction; of all of the possible ways she saw this conversation playing out, this was not one of them

"I mean you did say- You did say that word." His laughter stops for a minute, but his ear to ear grin is ever present as he regards her.

"I was _twelve_, Granger; I said a lot of shit. All bark, no bite."

"_I _knew it wasn't you." This was a lie. "And like I said, it didn't even work for me."

He finally stops smiling, looking confused once again. "What did they even use it for?"

"They changed into Crabbe and Goyle to question you about the Chamber."

He doesn't even seem phased. "And you?"

"What about me?"

"It didn't work. Why didn't it work?"

"Well, I was meant to change into Millicent Bulstrode."

"And?"

"I didn't."

"I get that, but what _happened_?" He pokes her in the cheek again, smiling gently at her. "I won't tell anyone."

"Cross your heart?" She's gazing at him with wide eyes and red cheeks. He holds his right hand up, drawing a cross over his chest with his left index finger.

"Cross my heart."

"Okay…" She takes a breath, thinking of how to put it into words. "I didn't actually take Millicent's hair."

"Whose did you take?"

"Not who: _what_." His eyes widen slightly, but he is completely transfixed on her words.

"It was from her cat, and the transformation is only meant to be for human transformations. I ended up with fur and a tail, and I was in the Hospital Wing for ages."

He nods. "Yeah, I remember that. I thought you'd dropped out or something, and I thought that with you gone I'd actually be able to be top of the class for once." He shook his head, smirking to himself. "Even as a cat, you managed to do better than me."

She smiles at him, her head dropping slightly. Her hair falls in front of her eyes. "I guess you were glad when I was petrified then; Draco Malfoy, top of the class."

He smiles. "No, actually. I wasn't. Glad, I mean – you being gone _did _mean I was top of the class."

"Why weren't you happy that the bane of your existence was gone?" She lifts her head and gently sways into him, knocking him with her shoulder.

He reaches out and brushes the hair out of her eyes and behind her ear, and Hermione feels her body freeze. "Because, Granger, without you then I'm the only one who understands anything in the class. I never realised how exhausted you must feel until then; how do you cope with being constantly surrounded by stupid people?"

She rolls her eyes, grinning at him. "I don't, haven't you noticed?"

"Just a little."

They sit there for a while, just staring and smiling at each other, her hands crossed properly on her knees, his arm stretched out behind her. It isn't awkward. It is…serene. It is a thousand perfect moments rolled into one, and Hermione feels a strong pang in her heart (she imagines this is what it must be like to be punched – she wouldn't know) as she watches his perfect pale face, the way his eyes seem to glimmer with a playful wickedness, the way his body is positioned in _just the right way_ to show her that his attention is on her – just her, nothing else. He isn't away with the fairies, he is _here_. In this moment, he isn't Malfoy, tormentor of Muggle-borns and hater of Potter's gang. He is _Draco_, kind and sweet and a bit of a prat, but a prat in the way Fred and George are, not a prat in the way he normally is.

"So," he finally breaks the silence, his eyes flickering away from her. Her heart drops. "You're a cat person, Granger?"

There it was. That fun, teasing prattishness that Hermione inexplicably adored.

"No, Malfoy, I'm a _people_ person."

"I get it now! That's why you've been so _catty_ since you were twelve!"

"I was _thirteen_!"

He grins – a wide, toothy grin – and mimes clawing at her with his right hand. "There's the cattishness. Me_ow_, Granger!"

"I'm not cat-" He makes the claw motion again, this time swooping his hand down to her waist and mercilessly tickling her. Her legs kick in the air as she gasps, screaming and giggling as he essentially pins her down, his other hand on her shoulder, trapping her on the sofa as he wreaks revenge for the night in the Owlery.

She's writhing around on the sofa, her chest heaving with short bursts of laughter as she tries to escape him, but he won't let her off easily. She falls against him, her back to his chest, her face red with laughter, and he finally stops. She smacks her hand lightly against his left bicep. "Prat." She hisses breathlessly, holding her side to soothe a stitch, just as he had moments before.

"Aw, come on, Granger." He wraps his left arm around her, hugging her in a way he hopes is friendly and not too romantic. "You love me really." The words slip out before he can stop them, and he feels his cheeks flare. He thanks Merlin that she can't see his face.

Hermione scoffs, but she doesn't pull away. "Do I?"

He lets out an inaudible sigh; she had taken the statement as a light-hearted comment.

"Maybe not." He lets go of her, smiling, and reaches behind him to grab his blazer, which had been folded across the back of the sofa. "Come on, Granger." He stands up and takes her hands in his, pulling her to her feet.

He lets go of her as she slides her feet into her flats, and she wants to scream at him: _No, you idiot, don't let go, keep hold so that I know you need me to keep you afloat just as much as I need you._ But she doesn't. The time isn't right, not yet; she still isn't sure as to his true intentions, and so she'll wait until she is absolutely 100% certain that he likes her too – until she is certain that he _loves _her too.

They leave their little sanctuary, the fire extinguishing (as if by magic) behind them. Hermione pretends to not notice when Malfoy's hand slips out and takes the cassette from the table, putting it into his blazer pocket. They wander the corridors, avoiding Filch perfectly – for some reason, Malfoy has Filch's entire route memorised to the minute. Hermione does not want to know why. They chat and they laugh, and Hermione wonders what life could've been like if Malfoy hadn't introduced himself the way he had in first year – if they had let Malfoy be part of the group. She wonders if she would feel the way she does now, or if she only feels the butterflies in her stomach and the tightening belt around her heart because he's something she knows she can't have. She doesn't know if she sees Malfoy the way a child sees a toy that belongs to their friend – the idea that you don't have it (or you _can't _have it) makes it ten times more desirable than it was before – and she afraid in case that is what her feelings mean, and as soon as she actually _gets _him…he stops being fun, stops being something she wants so desperately it makes her want to claw her skin off at the thought of not having it (not that that is how she's feeling).

The other two never made Hermione laugh like Malfoy can; she can't recall ever _snorting_ around them, which is what she is doing now, at a rather delightful Niffler impression. Her laughter stops when she sees the Fat Lady's portrait behind him, realising that it was over, at least for the night.

"I will see you tomorrow, Miss Hermione Granger." He takes her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles, and her mind sticks on how soft his lips are against her skin. How much softer they would be pressed against hers.

"Like hell you will, Mister Draco Malfoy." She gives him a smile, a smile which doesn't reach her eyes. He sees the sadness in them, and he feels like he's been hit with the Cruciatus curse. He suddenly pulls her towards him, crushing her against him as he hugs her tightly. His height means he's leaning at an odd angle, his face buried in her hair as he holds her. Her arms tentatively go around him.

Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy hold each other in silence.

"I _will _see you tomorrow. I swear it." He finally pulls away, then turns to go to the dungeons, tugging playfully on her right jacket pocket. She laughs and he lets go, grinning as he turns, his hand raised in a small wave. "Until tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow," she says to his back, the unspoken words catching in her throat.

_I love you_.

She enters the portrait hole to the disdain of the Fat Lady ("Fraternising with a Slytherin? If those boys of yours found out…" Hermione hushes her, telling her that if she spoke a word to Harry and Ron, she would _incendio _the portrait) and groggily trudges upstairs to her dorm. Parvati, Lavender, and Fay were already in bed, but Fay was the only one asleep.

"And where've you been?" Parvati calls to Hermione as she stands in the doorway. Taking her jacket off, she removes her wand from its inside pocket and tosses it in the vague direction of the bed. She misses (of course (Lavender laughs at this, the twit)), and instead the jacket lands on the wooden floor with a soft, light _thuck_.

"Out…" Hermione's brow furrows as she regards the jacket that shouldn't have anything in it.

"Did you have fun…_out_?"

"Lots, thanks…" She lifts the jacket by its collar, stuffing her hand in its left pocket – which is empty – then its right. Her fingers brush against something soft and cold, and she pulls it out, her puzzled expression melting to shock, melting to overwhelming happiness that brings tears to her eyes.

Laying in the palm of her hand is Draco Malfoy's silver ring.

She closes her fingers around it, holding it to her chest as the tears drip down her cheeks. Is it a sign? She doesn't care. It means that he at least _likes _her.

And that's better than nothing.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**A/N: I hope you all enjoy this chapter - I got a bit carried away writing it if I'm honest... I also realised that people might mistake the Slytherin student as Tonks (even though Tonks wasn't Slytherin/in school in 1996), and I just wanted to say it's me! A teeny tiny cameo, if you will! Thank you all for your kind reviews; it absolutely makes my day to read them, and they make me feel so loved and appreciated so thank you all so, so much! I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and you're staying safe. Love, CrazyAsACupcake**

On Sunday, Hermione Granger is in the library at 10 o'clock, at the table her and Malfoy had shared twice over the past week. To Hermione, it seemed like the most obvious place to meet. She made her way steadily through her homework of Transfiguration and Potions, before taking a break at 12, still sitting on her own. She takes a sip from her water bottle, staring out of the large glass window on the opposite side of the table. The Quidditch pitch is empty and muddy, and the few students that are on the grounds outside look miserable under umbrellas. She does not see the white-blond hair of Draco Malfoy.

He was not at breakfast that morning, but Hermione thinks nothing of it; it's a Sunday, after all, and Harry and Ron preferred to stay in bed until noon on a Sunday, so perhaps Malfoy enjoyed his sleep-ins as well. She begins her Charms essay, though she isn't completely focused on it, her mind continuously wandering back to her new…friend. She hadn't explicitly told him to meet her in the library, so there was no reason as to why he would go there at all. At quarter to 1, she begins chewing on her lip, stopping her habitual tearing of the flesh there when she tastes the coppery tang of blood on her tongue. After a few more nervous glances around the (almost empty) library, she packs her bag and leaves the library, her regulation black shoes clicking against the stone corridor. As she walks down the corridor, she wrestles her bushy hair into a ponytail, wrapping it in two bobbles to prevent it from breaking free. Her prefect badge catches the light, glinting patterns across the walls as she makes her way with purpose to the Entrance Hall, then down into the dungeons. The skin on the back of her neck prickles and she curses herself – she's been in this school for six years and is somehow still afraid of going into the dungeons.

She passes Slughorn's (empty) classroom, still popping her head in just in case. The next few rooms are empty as well, and soon Hermione hits the entrance to Slytherin Dungeon, her hand itching to reach into her robe and pull her wand out. She knows it's a stupid thing to even be down here asking for Draco Malfoy of all people, and she should probably just turn and go back to the library. Just as she spins on her heel, the wall opens and a witch with pink and blue hair emerges – probably no less than fifteen, two years younger than Hermione. The girl sneers at her, looking her up and down as she stands, frozen, in the middle of the corridor.

"What do you want?" The girl has a not-so-thick Northern accent, and venom laced words.

"I- I'm looking for Mister Malfoy, is he in there?"

"_Mister Malfoy_," the girl mocks, her brow quirked and her lips curled in disgust. "And what do you want with him, then?"

"Um- Well…Ron has come down with a fever so he can't do patrol tonight, so I need to tell him – Malfoy. That he's needed at half past 8. To patrol. Because Ron is sick." Hermione can feel her cheeks heating up, can feel herself beginning to sweat lightly under the pressure (why she is feeling pressured by a random fifth year, we'll never know). She hopes the girl can't sense her nervousness.

"And who says he's the one who should patrol in the Weasel's absence?"

"McGonagall," Hermione's eyes are wide, like a deer caught in headlights. _Don't ask why McGonagall couldn't tell him herself_. She rubs her palms against the front of her robes, trying to get the slickness off them.

The girl rolls her eyes, arms folded over her robes. "Right then." Hermione breathes out a sigh of relief.

"So, please could you check if he's in there for me?"

"Don't need to," the girl drawls, smirking slightly. "He's not there."

"Well, do you know where he is?"

The girl shrugs, looking bored. Probably thinking about where she'd rather be other than in the middle of this conversation. "Could be anywhere. I don't keep tabs on him."

Hermione nods, thinking about all the places Malfoy might be on a rather miserable Sunday afternoon. "Thank you for your help, anyway." She begins back down the corridor, before thinking better of it and turning back to the girl. "And you should probably show a bit more respect in the future. I'll be taking twenty points from Slytherin for how you spoke to me."

Down the corridor, the girl rolls her eyes, lifting her hands and wiggling her fingers slightly. "Ooh, I'm so scared. Get fucked, Mudblood."

Hermione feels her throat close slightly, her eyes burning as she stares at this girl, this random, unknown girl who just felt the need to curse at her for no reason. "That'll be fifty points, thank you very much."

She turns, quickly leaving the dungeon in case the girl got violent (she didn't – she just kind of laughed at Hermione's back). She pauses at the top of the stairwell in the Entrance hall, leaning against the doorjamb and rubbing her hands harshly across her face.

_Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry._

She takes a deep, shaking breath, pushing herself away from the stairwell and exiting the building, into the rain. Malfoy is too much of a snob to go anywhere in the rain if he has the choice; he wouldn't want his _extremely expensive_ outfit getting muddy, and he certainly wouldn't want his hair (his precious hair!) getting ruined in the downpour. Hermione still walks around the grounds, her regulation black shoes soon turning non-regulation brown from the mud that's slurping at her feet, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. She squints against the rain currently pelting her, the coldness of it against her skin taking her mind off the harsh bitterness of the girl's words.

She meanders around the grounds for a while, not surprised when she doesn't see Malfoy, before re-entering the building. Her shoes make a wet noise against the stone, and she takes a moment to _Scourgify_ her shoes, the bottom of her robes, and her socks, getting rid of the thick layer of dirt that coated them. Looking at her watch, she is surprised to see that it is nearing half past 3, and so she slips into the Great Hall for some lunch (thank Merlin for late lunch on Sundays – or else she would have missed it entirely). She sits awkwardly at the Gryffindor table – Ron, Harry, and Ginny probably having already gone back to the Common Room – picking at a ham sandwich she'd assembled on her plate. Her gaze wanders to the fruit bowl in the centre of the table, and she picks a perfect green apple from the bowl, biting into it and smiling slightly at the scent – _his _scent. When she looks to the other side of the Hall, she doesn't see him sat at the Slytherin table. Zabini, Nott, and Parkinson are sat there laughing together. Crabbe and Goyle are nowhere to be seen.

At 4:49, she starts off towards the only other place she can think of him being – the Room of Requirement – still crunching through her apple as she goes up to the seventh floor. Two girls are leaning against the wall, stood either side of where the door should appear. Hermione's brow furrows slightly, as she walks up the corridor towards them. One of them – clearly the younger of the two – is running her finger along a set of scales, while the other one scowls at Barnabas the Barmy's tapestry across from them, her head flicking towards Hermione as she nears them. Hermione watches as the scowling girl hisses something to her friend, causing her to drop (or did she throw?) the set of scales on the floor, the loud noise echoing off of the stone walls around Hermione and rattling through her head.

"What are you two doing?" She calls to them as she approaches, watching as the younger girl slowly bends to the floor to grab the scales.

"Nothing," the older girl snaps, arms still crossed, her piercing glower now moved from Barnabas to Hermione.

"Well, why don't you go do something worthwhile instead of stand in the corridor."

"Like what? It's miserable, and we're not going to take orders from a-" The younger girl hisses at her, and she swallows her next words. "We've been told to wait here."

"Told to wait here by who?" Hermione's body language mirrors the surly girl: arms folded, scowling (sneering?) with one brow raised.

"By Ma-"

"By Professor McGonagall." The younger girl quickly jumps in, glaring at her friend. "She told us to wait here while she dealt with some other boys."

"Oh. Are you two in trouble then?"

The younger girl nods with wide eyes. "Yes-"

"Not at all!" It's the older girls turn to glare. "We had asked for help on Transfiguration, and she said she would help us but then the boys appeared, and she had to go…"

"And give them detentions."

Hermione nods, looking to the side and thinking. She obviously doesn't believe them – they're both horrific liars – but it's not her place to pry, as she herself had done more sneaking at their age than they were doing now. She instead begins pacing the corridor, and out of the corner of her eye she sees one of the girl's eyes widen, and the two of them start whispering together. The younger one drops (throws?) the scales on the floor again, scattering Hermione's thoughts as the noise reverberates through the corridor.

The girl gingerly picks the scale up and Hermione glowers at her, turning with a flick of her wet ponytail, and walking back to the library to continue her work. Perhaps Malfoy had turned up there while she'd been looking for him. Perhaps she'll run into him walking through the corridors looking for her. The thought makes her smile slightly, and she quickens her pace with a spring in her step in the hopes of seeing him soon.

The two girls behind her whispered conspiringly together as they watched her go, disappearing around the corner.

Inside the Room of Requirement – or, as it's known in its current state, the Room of Hidden Things – Draco Malfoy stands in front of a partially destroyed Vanishing Cabinet, his robe slung over a chair behind him, along with his jumper. His tie is loosened, his top button undone to help him breathe, or cool down. His face is ashen, his forehead shines with a thin layer of sweat from his hard work (which started at 8 o'clock), he grips his wand tightly in his right hand, twisting it over and over with his thumb. His fingers itch to play with his ring, but every time he reaches for it he is met with the cool skin of his finger, remembering that he doesn't really own the ring anymore.

He stares at the door for a moment, breathing in deeply through his noise, then out through slightly parted lips. Closes his eyes, tips his head back as he calms himself. He turns, digging through his robe pockets and pulling out a green apple. He tosses the apple into the air and catches it, polishing it against his trouser leg. The apple gets places inside the Cabinet, and the door closes. A few moments later, he pulls the door open again, his stomach dropping when he sees the apple is still there.

He sighs, running his left hand through his hair, before removing the apple and shutting the door, placing the apple on top of his discarded robe. Pointing his wand at the Cabinet, he begins chanting an incantation, repeating it until the Vanishing Cabinet seems bright enough – in his eyes at least; the instructions didn't say how bright it was supposed to be. The Cabinet seems to shimmer, alive with light that dances across its surface, the inside glowing through the cracks. He drops his wand arm to his side, wiping his forehead with the back of his left hand. It feels like an eternity passes as he waits in silence for the Cabinet to go dark once more. He picks the apple back up, rolling it between his palms, his fingers twitching towards the stem. He takes the stem between his thumb and index finger, playing a childish game in his mind as he waits.

_What is the name of your true love? _

He begins to twist the stem, going through the alphabet with each full turn.

_A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H…_

The stem snaps off, and he smirks.

_Of bloody course_.

The light in and around the Cabinet has disappeared, and so he places the apple back inside the Vanishing Cabinet, shutting the door and leaning his back against it. He is thankful for choosing a short-sleeved shirt today, as he knows with a long-sleeved one, he would've been hotter than he already is. The bandage is irritating his arm – he's done it miles too tight and he longs to pull it off and scratch the skin beneath. He counts to 25 under his breath, his eyes shut, fingers tapping against the door with each number. When he gets to 25, he pushes himself off the door and opens it.

The apple seems to grin up at him.

A harsh, guttural yell of frustration rips from him, and he launches the apple across the room, not seeing where it lands, but hearing it as it collides with the precarious piles and takes them down with it. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he tangles his long fingers in his hair, pulling at the soft ends until his scalp hurts. With a swallow, he looks at the Cabinet. A sudden feeling of horror rises over him as he thinks about how little time he has left to complete his task.

His stomach heaves and he presses a hand to his mouth to stop himself, but he can't. He retches once, twice, nothing coming up but a tasteless, odourless white foam – a reminder at the fact that he hasn't had a single thing to eat all day. He wishes he hadn't thrown the apple as his stomach begins gurgling and grumbling at him. Sighing, he picks his wand up, _Scourgify_-ing the floor of the room, and the tips of his shoes. He tips his head back and groans.

"Come on, Draco," he murmurs to himself, gripping his wand tightly, his short, bitten nails digging into the flesh of his palm. "One last time."

He looks at his watch – it's quarter past 6 now. She'll be in the library until it closes. He has enough time, enough time to try it _just once more_.

Swallowing again, the horrible, lingering taste of _tastelessness_ on his tongue, he points his wand at the Cabinet. Tries to ignore the shaking of his hand. Tries to ignore how his head feels like it's too heavy and too light at the same time. He takes a deep breath, eyes closed, before beginning the chant again. The shimmering light can be seen even behind his closed lids, and he opens his eyes to the full brightness, continuing the repetitive chant. He stops when his vision begins to blur, pressing his fingers to his temples and pressing down until the pain in his head stops. He needs to eat soon, and he will, if this works.

While the light dims down, he searches for something he can (hopefully) transport to the other Vanishing Cabinet that is currently waiting in Borgin and Burkes. He groans, tugging at his hair again with his left hand, before delving into his robe pockets in the hopes of finding something he can send. He finally pulls out his quill, staring at it for a moment before shrugging and chucking it inside the Cabinet.

"Last time." He leans against the chair his robe is draped across, his right foot tapping restlessly against the floor. When his counting reaches 30 this time, he opens the door, a smile dying on his lips.

His quill rests on the bottom of the cabinet.

He takes the quill out and places it delicately on top of his robe before grabbing the ends of his hair and doubling over, eyes screwed shut. He screams, anger and frustration and fear building into this one noise that fills the space around him, swallowing him, drowning him. He screams until his throat burns and tears are dripping down his cheeks onto his shirt. He screams until his breath runs out, until he's gasping for air. He stands straight, tears blurring his (perfect) vision, and he spins, slamming his fists against the door over and over again.

"_Fuck_!" His voice is full of hatred as he shouts, his throat feeling like it's ripping itself apart. "Fuck you, fuck you, _fuck you_!" He can feel the rawness of the skin of his hands, the pain that shoots through them every time they collide with the door. He hits it one last time, pushing himself away, his face upturned and his arms outstretched as he roars at the ceiling. "Come on! Come _fucking _on!"

His breathing is ragged as he glares at the Cabinet, picking his wand up and pointing it once more. "One last time," he growls, the incantation coming to him naturally at this point – yet at the same time, the repeated words seemed to lose meaning, becoming garbled and fake. He wasn't even sure they were real words anymore.

He opens it, bending to pull off his shoe and chucking it inside, slamming the door. "You better fucking work or I swear to Merlin…" He opens the Cabinet and groans – dropping his chin to his chest – as he sees the shoe still there.

"Are you _kidding _me?" He grabs the shoe and throws it on the floor, where it lays on its side like a forgotten toy. "Are you _actually _being serious?" He raises his wand _again_.

"One last time."

There isn't _one _last time. There is another _six _last times, all ending with Malfoy throwing a fit over the item (which changes each time) not vanishing. When Malfoy raises his wand for the seventh time, the face of his watch catches the dim lighting, causing him to pause. His brow furrows, and he tilts his wrist slightly to see the time. The blood in his veins seems to turn to ice.

It is 7:56.

The library closes at 8 o'clock.

He's left her – _again_ – after swearing that he wouldn't.

"Shit."

He grabs his stuff, throwing his jumper over his head and his bag over his shoulder, carrying his robe across his forearm and his shoe in his hands, he bolts for the exit. He crashes through the doors, pulling his shoe on with his wand between his teeth like salsa dancers rose. Crabbe and Goyle jolt, their Polyjuice disguises long gone (but no one came down the corridor anyway, so it wasn't a problem). They quickly fall into step behind him, flanking him on either side as he slides his arms into his robe, his steps loud and harsh against the stone as he moves at the fastest speed that isn't 'sprint'. Crabbe and Goyle talk over each other, assaulting him with questions and information that he just can't deal with right now.

"What the hell are you up to-"

"-been waiting all day-"

"-owe us an explanation-"

"-can't stick up for you forever-"

"-Granger sniffing around-"

Malfoy falters, nearly tripping down the stairs at Goyle's words. "What did you say?" Crabbe opens his mouth, and Malfoy glares at him. "Not you, you dolt. _Him_."

Goyle struggles to keep up with Malfoy as they make their way through the corridors. Malfoy checks his watch nervously. _8:02_.

"I said, at 5 that Granger started sniffing around, trying to get into the room. Don't know if she was after you or what, but she was poking her nose where it doesn't belong."

Malfoy runs his hands through his hair, mentally kicking himself.

_She was looking for you_.

The other two being there make his blood boil in his veins as he hears their clumsy footsteps behind him. "Oh, bugger off, would you! Let me deal with Granger alone!"

"You're going to find _Granger_?"

"Are you deaf now, Goyle? Pair of oafs, you'll scare her off." He can still here them behind him, and he turns, fire in his eyes. "Go!" He shouts, his voice echoing down the corridor. Goyle nods, starting towards the common room, before grabbing Crabbe's arm and pulling him along with him. Malfoy, too, could sense Crabbe's rebellion, and it made his stomach churn.

He breaks his façade, starting a dead sprint down the corridor, his robes billowing behind him. _8:08_. He turns the corner, his shoes slipping and sending him stumbling as he tries to gain traction on the smooth floor.

He reaches the library at 12 minutes past, doubled over with his hands on his thighs as he takes deep, gulping breaths. His heart is racing, and it feels like it's going to crack his ribcage with how fast it's pumping. In front of him, Madam Pince finishes locking the door, dropping the key into her pocket and looking at him with a mix of pity and annoyance.

"I assume you're the one she was waiting for."

He nods, unable to speak as he tries to catch his breath. A stitch starts in his side and he winces.

"She was adamant you'd show up; I let her stay longer than I was supposed to." She nods down the end of the hall, and he looks up, straightening and running his hands through his hair.

Hermione Granger is leaning against the wall, clutching a book to her chest. Tear tracks run down both cheeks, which are red from the embarrassment of being stood up – of being left alone _all day _– in the library. She is staring at a point on the floor, and she doesn't look up, not even when his polished shoes come into her field of vision.

"Granger, I-"

"Don't, Malfoy."

"I'm sorry, I lost track of time. I was going to come, I promise, I-"

"Malfoy!" She snaps, and it catches him off guard. She finally looks up at him, and he can see the hurt in her brown eyes. "I waited so that I could tell you I'm done with this… This _friendship_, if you'd even call it that. I'm done."

He gapes after her as she starts down the corridor, watching as she rubs her cheeks angrily with the heel of her hand. "Granger!" He begins after her.

"Leave me alone, Malfoy!"

"Why should I?"

She spins around, the anger and hate etched on her face as she sneers at him. "Why _should _you? I'll tell you why, Malfoy." She spits his name out as though it disgusts her. "You _promised_, last night, that you wouldn't leave me waiting again. You _promised_. And instead, I'm left alone, wandering around the castle like some dumb love-struck twit like your fifty current lovers, looking for you! Getting called slurs and sworn at and just downright disrespected…" She takes a shuddering breath, her face flushed.

"Wait, who called you a slur?"

"A fifth year Slytherin girl – because I went looking for you in the dungeon. Because, Malfoy, you went MIA _again_! No note, no owl, no _nothing_."

"You went to the dungeons?"

"And the Quidditch pitch, in the rain. And the Room of Requirement where these two girls where very suspicious about their reasons for being there."

"You looked for me?" She can see in his face that he's surprised she bothered. A part of her wants to take his face in her hands, her thumbs rubbing circles on his cheeks as she slowly leans up on her tiptoes to plant a chaste, quick kiss on his lips. A louder part wants to never see him again.

"Yes, I did." She stands straighter, clutching her book closer – if that's possible. "And you weren't anywhere. And, quite frankly, Malfoy, I don't care anymore. I didn't care at half past 7 when it was quite obvious you weren't going to show up. I'm done."

"I'm sorry!" He pleads, gently grabbing her wrist as she turns, and Hermione is shocked to see in his eyes that he actually _is _sorry.

"Where were you?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not?" She hisses, sneering – and he thinks _damn her_, she's got the infamous Malfoy sneer down to a T.

"I just can't."

"Why?"

"Because!" He snaps, instantly regretting it when he sees her flinch away from him with wide eyes. He buries his face in his hands, getting his breathing in control. He runs his hands through his hair, tugging the ends. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"Starting tomorrow we pretend that we were never friends," she whispers, looking at him from the corner of her eye. _You don't want to do this_. "You can go back to sitting with Pansy in Potions. You can go back to tormenting me and calling me a _Mudblood_. Call me it as much as you want: I don't care anymore. You enjoy riling Harry and Ron up, and I'm sure that word will get them going. We don't speak, you don't sit with me in the library, we go back to how it was."

"Granger-"

"No, Malfoy." She shakes her head, turning away from him. "I'm done."

He follows her silently, sneaking up until he's behind her, then grabbing her wrist and spinning her around and into him, a yelp escaping her. She pushes him away, frowning at him. "I'm sorry, okay? I lost track of time, I was going to come and see you. I was really looking forward to it, actually."

"You couldn't have come and found me? You couldn't have sent a note? You couldn't have said '_hey, Hermione, I'm going to be a bit late today_,'?"

He takes a deep breath, looking her straight in the eyes, his hands on her shoulders. "Hey, Hermione," his voice is hoarse and rough, and Hermione feels her skin prickling at the use of her Christian name. She can't remember a time where he hasn't called her Granger – probably because he's never called her anything but _Granger_, except from his exaggerated goodnights, which don't count as they use her full name. "I'm going to be a bit late today."

A blush creeps up from her collar, and she pushes his hands from her shoulders. "You can't tell someone you're going to be late _after _you're already late."

He smirks, and she can feel her cheeks burning. "I'm certain we've had this conversation before."

"We have. Twice. Is it really too much to ask for a note?"

"Okay." He places his left hand over his heart and holds his right hand up. "I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, do solemnly swear that, from hence forth, I shall send Hermione Granger a note – at least – in regards to any unforeseen absences."

She can't help the tugging at the corners of her lips at his use of old English, even though she knows he only did it because it would make her laugh. "It's too little, too late, Malfoy." But her smile betrays her, and he smirks at her.

"Sure it is." He pushes one shoulder gently, pivoting her around. "Come on, Granger."

"And where do you think you're going?"

"I think _we're _going to Gryffindor Tower, Granger." He starts walking, an arm around her shoulder.

"You can't come into the common room," Hermione fights herself, trying not to lean closer into him, telling herself that she's still mad at him. She doesn't want to lean into him, leaching his warmth, her arm around his waist. She _doesn't_.

"I wasn't going in the common room, I was walking you there."

"I'm still mad at you."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Half the trip to Gryffindor Tower is in complete silence, and his arm slowly slips from around her shoulders, causing her heart to scream out _please don't let go_, until the backs of their fingers brush against each other. Malfoy stiffens beside her, and it's almost as if she's under the Imperius curse as she slowly reaches out and entwines her fingers with his, palm to palm, her face flushing when she realises what she's done. When she goes to pull away, he starts rubbing his thumb in circles against the skin on the back of her hand. He's staring straight ahead, not down at her, but she can see the pink in his cheeks.

"I'm still mad," she repeats, her voice quiet. They stop just down the corridor, the Fat Lady just barely visible.

"I know," he murmurs, his eyes locked on hers. "I really am sorry."

"I know."

He smirks down at her, eyes glinting. His gaze flickers to her lips, then back to her wide, brown eyes. "Goodnight, Granger."

"Goodnight, Malfoy." She smiles, hesitating. Finally, she decides to reach up, leaving a small peck on his cheek, before running to the portrait. He stands there in shock for a second, tilting his head towards her with a smirk.

"Are you still mad, Granger?" She grins back at him.

"Always, Malfoy."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**A/N: I know it's been a while, and this one isn't that long, but I really enjoyed writing it. I hope everyone is staying safe, and I hope you like this chapter! Love, CrazyAsACupcake**

On Monday morning, Hermione wakes up at 5:23. She lays on her side in bed, facing away from Parvati's bed, her arms curled under her head. For a second, she just stares at the wall – just past Fay – before she sits up and reaches across to her trinket box which is resting on the cabinet. She opens it silently, running her fingers adoringly over the unmoving ballerina that stands in the centre, and pulls out Malfoy's ring, closing her hand around it and holding it close to her. She gently moves the other jewellery out of the way, eventually pulling out a necklace with a thin silver chain. The necklace charm gets removed (a ballerina – a gift from her grandma when she was 13) and she slips the ring onto the chain, fastening it around her neck and slipping it underneath her pyjama shirt. She's not sure, exactly, why she does it; maybe it's because she just thinks it looks nice, or perhaps it's because it's far too big to go around her finger. Or (the most obvious reason to anything that isn't Hermione) it's because she wants to keep a piece of him close to her – close to her heart, to be more specific.

She stretches, her shoulders clicking as she raises her arms over her head, then gets out of bed. Without really caring if it looks neat, she throws the covers over the bed, telling herself she'll sort it out later (she won't), and pulls her shirt and skirt out of her trunk. She tiptoes to the bathroom, careful not to wake any of the other girls, locking the door behind her and slumping against it with a sigh. After a quick shower and a fight to try to get her hair into something that resembled a bun, she gets dressed, making sure her shirt is tucked properly into her skirt before fastening her tie, grumbling under her breath whenever she makes the tie too long or too short. She's ready by 6:45, so, with nothing else to do, she sits awkwardly on the end of the bed, playing with the hem of her skirt.

Parvati wakes up next, squinting at Hermione as her eyes focus. "Aren't you going to make your bed?"

Hermione jolts at her voice, as if woken from a trance. "Yeah, I am." She stands, pulling the sheet so it's straight and tucking the edges underneath the mattress. She tries to ignore Parvati's eyes drilling holes into her back.

Lavender sits up groggily, basically rolling from her bed to the bathroom to get ready. She comes out less than ten minutes later smelling of flowers with a smile on her face. There are no dark circles under her eyes and Hermione scowls; how come girls like Lavender and Parvati never have dark circles? Why couldn't she be like that?

"Hey, Hermione," Parvati swings her legs over the side of the bed, smirking at Lavender as Hermione fluffs her pillows up on her bed. "How about the three of us play a game?"

Hermione glances at the clock beside her bed, blowing a loose strand of hair from her eyes. She turns towards Parvati. "I suppose we could…"

Parvati claps like a child, grinning at her and tucking her legs up under her nightgown. "Let's see, what game could we play…" Lavender tries to supress her a smile, her eyes glinting. "Oh! Let's play Kiss, Marry, Kill!"

Hermione frowns. "Okay… We can play it a few times, but I'm meant to be going for breakfast at half past."

Parvati waves her hand, batting away Hermione's words. "You have plenty of time. Let's start easy then: Seamus, Dean, or Theodore."

Hermione snorts – Parvati was right, this one _was _easy. "Well…kill Nott, kiss Dean, marry Seamus."

"How about a harder one: Fred, George, or Zacharias Smith."

"Kill Zacharias, kiss George, marry Fred." Lavender makes a slight _ooh_ sound, giggling to herself. Hermione glares at her. "I thought you were joining in, Lavender?"

"She'll only talk if we mention Ron," Parvati rolls her eyes, and Hermione gets the slight feeling that she's being toyed with – that Parvati is pretending to be nice to her to get information out of her. She leans towards her trunk, pulling her clothes out of it. "Last one, then I'm going to get ready. Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and… Oh, who should the third one be?" Lavender snorts behind them. "Oh, _I_ know – Draco Malfoy!"

The world seems to stop as Parvati smirks at her. She begs her cheeks to not heat up, to not become that bright tomato red that they did every point of the day. "I suppose…" She pauses, swallowing. She can't say anything about Ron as Lavender would probably rugby tackle her from behind (not that Lavender knows what a rugby tackle is). She feels like she's been set up.

"Well, kill Ronald, obviously." Lavender lets out an overexaggerated gasp behind her, followed by giggling. "I wouldn't want to upset you by saying anything otherwise, Lavender." Hermione says over her shoulder, her voice even and cold as she stares at Parvati with emotionless eyes.

_Don't let them see that they've got to you._

"I guess… kiss Harry and marry Malfoy." The words come out in a rush and she almost stumbles over them. Parvati's mouth is open in fake shock, her eyes glinting. "I wouldn't want to do anything intimate with the creep. And no one said we had to _do_ anything once we were married; I'd marry him then live in the opposite side of the house to him. We don't need to see each other at all."

Parvati's face falls slightly, her eyes darkening as she realises Hermione cheated her game. "You can't do that."

"Oh really? And who says I can't?" Hermione snaps.

"I do."

"You should have said so before we started then," she replies curtly, pulling her cardigan on and grabbing her robe and wand. She throws the strap of her bag over her head. "You can't change the rules to a game once it's already begun." She leaves the room, the door slamming behind her as she pulls her robe on.

Ginny is waiting in the common room, draped across one of the sofas as she stares at the unlit fireplace. Hermione wonders what she could be thinking about as she taps her on the shoulder, jerking her out of her trace-like state.

"Morning, 'Mione," she smiles, revealing perfectly straight teeth. "Just waiting for the boys now." Almost as soon as she says it, Harry enters the common room, his hair a mess and his glasses slightly skewed over dark eyes.

"Come on then," he grumbles, marching towards the portrait.

"Where's Ron?" Ginny picks her bag up from the floor, following him with a frown.

"Says he's eating with Lavender today."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Harry snaps as they make their way to the Great Hall.

"No need to be like that, Harry." Ginny sniffs, annoyance crossing her face.

"Like what?"

"Like _this_," she gestures at him.

"I'm not doing anything!"

"Why are you getting so defensive?"

"Why are you having a go?"

"I'm not having a go! I-"

"Stop it!" Hermione shouts from between them. "Both of you, just stop!" She glares at Harry from under her lashes and his face glows.

"Sorry, Hermione."

"You will be," she snarls, pushing that annoying loose strand of hair behind her ear (or at least she tries to; the strand is too short to go behind her ear, and instead falls back in front of her eyes). "I'd like to at least have a nice breakfast before Defence Against the Dark Arts with Snape and the Slytherins."

They enter the Great Hall – greeted by the smell of fresh grilled bacon and just-brewed tea – and take their seats towards the middle of the Gryffindor table. Hermione can see Dean Thomas sat with Seamus further down from them, and she is caught awkwardly in the middle of Ginny and Dean's silent flirting. To try and distract herself, she picks up a slice of toast, shoving it into her mouth without buttering it first. She chews the crisp bread into a mushy, flavourless pulp, before swallowing it uncomfortably, cursing herself for being such an awkward person.

She leans across Ginny and grabs some bacon, and a sausage, dropping them onto her plate beside her un-buttered, half-eaten slice of toast. She eyes the bowl of scrambled eggs, deciding to treat herself to a spoonful as Ginny bats her eyelashes at Dean over her head.

Maybe she deserves _two _spoonfuls.

As she cuts her bacon into small pieces, Harry glowers past her shoulder. She puts two pieces in her mouth, the burst of flavour making her shove two more in, then another two. When she looks back up, still chewing the delicious bacon, Harry's stony expression is ever present. "What, Harry?" She sighs, pouring herself some tea.

"Malfoy is up to something." His voice comes from somewhere deep in his chest, the sound dark and angry.

Hermione rolls her eyes, stabbing another piece of bacon with her fork. "And what makes you think that?"

"He's been staring at us since we walked in."

Hermione tries her hardest to not go stock-still, tries to not let her spine stiffen and her cheeks flush as she glances at Harry. She sets down her fork. "Well, that's probably because you've been staring at him too. You know how he likes to wind you up."

_Don't look at him_.

"I don't know, 'Mione. He's not even looking at me. He's just looking _vaguely _at the table."

"So how do you know he's up to something if he's not even looking at _you_?" She hisses with annoyance, leaning forwards across the table to try and capture his attention. "He's probably just tired and staring into space. Stop making something out of nothing, Harry, _please_. Just let us enjoy breakfast without your conspiracies."

He holds her gaze for a moment before looking away, sighing and throwing his hands up. "Fine, you're right." He pours himself a bowl of cornflakes, grumbling under his breath.

Hermione turns, looking towards the Slytherin table all the way on the other side of the Hall. She sees him instantly, his grey eyes trained on her. When he sees that she's turned towards him, he smirks and wiggles his brows at her.

Pansy is not beside him; instead he is flanked by Zabini and Nott – neither of whom are giving him any attention.

She gives him a look, a look that says _stop it, you're going to make things Difficult_ (yes, difficult with a capital 'D'), only to be met with his normal shit-eating grin. And then he does the strangest thing.

He _winks_ at her.

All the way across the Slytherin table, the Ravenclaw table, and the Hufflepuff table, Draco Malfoy _winks _at Hermione Granger.

Her eyebrows shoot up in shock, and she sees his head go back in a laugh as he watches her reaction. She glares at him – she's done quite a lot of glaring for one morning. He smiles, winking again before he turns to Nott and starts a conversation, leaving her turned around on the bench, watching the Slytherin table.

She watches the way that he interacts with them and she is blown away by how at peace he seems, how effortless it looks for him to have fun and be free with them. Even this far across the Hall, she can see how the mirth from the conversation makes his eyes glitter, how his hands aren't itching to touch his hair, how his eyes don't look too sunken, or his skin too pale or too sallow.

His eyes flicker over to hers, and he turns his head slightly. His voice carries over all of the heads in the Hall.

"Do you like what you see, Granger?"

Hermione feels her cheeks flare as she spins back to the table, eyes wide. His laughter – his gorgeous, light, care-free laughter that makes her heart feel like it's about to burst – dances around her, and she thinks maybe her mind is amplifying it until she feels a gentle hand on her shoulder and hears Harry growl across from her. The bench beside her groans slightly as someone lowers themselves onto it.

"Relax, Potter. I'm just here to tell Granger that if she enjoys staring at me so much, she can be my partner today in DADA." She can't help but roll her eyes. Of _course _he abbreviates it.

"She doesn't want to be anywhere near you, Malfoy. Get your hand off her."

"I think she can make her own decisions, don't you, Potter?"

Harry's eyes don't leave Hermione's, and she can see the fire in them behind his glasses.

"Snape said that we were learning Nonverbal jinxes today, didn't he? I'd rather test them on someone who deserves it." She finally turns towards him, surprised to see the smirk playing across his face as he regards her.

"Right back at you, Granger," he murmurs, and Hermione hopes that she is the only one who notices the lack of malice in it. He smirks at her once more, standing from the bench. He sneers at Harry. "Maybe you should let her speak for herself every once in a while. She is a rather intelligent young woman, you know." With that, he strides out of the hall, his robes billowing behind him.

Hermione forces herself not to watch him leave.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry seethes, glaring at the doors of the Hall long after they slam shut.

Hermione sighs, picking her bag up and slinging it over her shoulder. She plucks a green apple from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table without thinking. "It means, he got to you."

She marches out of the hall, not listening to Harry grumble to Ginny about Malfoy. All she can think is one thing.

_Draco Malfoy, you are going to pay for that_.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**A/N: I'm sorry again for how long it's taken me! It's been such a difficult week, I'm really sorry. I'm also worried in case everyone thinks I'm dragging this out too much - am I dragging it out too much? I know exactly where I want the story to go but I just have so many ideas that I want to get out there that it means that I'm making lots of chapters. Is it too much? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and you're all staying safe! Lots of Love, CrazyAsACupcake x **

Malfoy leans lazily against the wall outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, hands tucked deep into his trouser pockets, his legs crossed at the ankle as he watches the corridor with bored eyes. The ghost of a smirk plays across his face as he thinks of how he tormented Hermione not ten minutes earlier, her embarrassed expression etched into his mind. He rubs his jaw with his hand, the smoothness of his freshly-shaven face pleasant compared to the rough not-quite-stubble he had been feeling all of yesterday. To his left, he hears the unmistakable angry clicking of regulation black shoes with a heel of no more than 2 inches against the stone floor, and smirks to himself.

"Draco Malfoy!" She hisses at him when she's a few feet away, still crunching on the dainty bite of apple in her mouth. Her left hand rests in the crook of her right elbow, her right hand up near her face as if she's unsure as to whether she wants to take another bite or not. His gaze lingers on the apple in her grasp, his smirk growing when he sees the bright green colour of the skin.

"You know, it's horribly rude to talk with your mouth full, Granger," he drawls, in a way he hopes comes off as unbothered with the conversation, yet completely tuned into it at the same time.

She sneers at him, eyes narrowed, as she goes for another bite. She thinks better of it, instead pointing at him with her free hand. "How _dare _you humiliate me like that – in front of the whole school, no less!" He smiles sweetly at her, before losing it and chuckling lightly. "You think it's funny? You're going to set Harry off! He already suspects you enough and you're not helping your case!" She hisses, finally going for a second bite.

"Come closer," he murmurs, a light smile still lifting the corners of his mouth.

"Excuse me?"

"Just come closer. Just a bit."

Her right arm drops slightly and she rolls her eyes, taking an exaggerated step forward. He laughs, making sure to make his voice rough and alluring. "Come on, Granger. You're not scared of me are you?"

"Scared?" She stares at him with wide eyes before scoffing. "You wish, Malfoy." She takes another step, so she is now a foot away from him. She brings the apple to her lips again, raising her eyebrow at him.

He reaches out, towards her cheek, and she stiffens. What was he doing? In the middle of the corridor is not where she wants him to realise that he is as hopelessly in love with her as she is with him. She feels as though she is about to stop breathing – or maybe she already has, she's not quite sure – but she doesn't care. All she cares about is the feeling of his fingertips brushing against her cheek, cupping her face and pulling her towards him for a kiss (the kind that makes girls turn to their boyfriends in movie theatres and say "_Why can't you ever treat me like that_?") right there, in the middle of the corridor, where anyone can see them. All she wants is him. She yearns for it, with her whole being, and she waits with bated breath for it to happen.

But it doesn't.

At the last second, he deftly snatches the green apple from her hand, tossing it in the air before catching it and taking a huge bite out of the untouched side. He grins at her, chewing and swallowing the apple that he stole from her. "I can't believe you remembered the green ones were my favourite."

"Malfoy!" She gapes at him in shock and steps back. "That was mine!" She goes for the apple and he holds it above his head, smirking when she jumps to try and take it.

"Come on, Granger, sharing is caring. Besides, _you_ had breakfast, _I_ didn't."

"I saw you sat in the hall, of course you ate breakfast." She lunges for the apple again and he twists his body to dodge her. He takes another bite from the apple.

"Ah, but I spent the entire morning trying to get your attention, except _you_," he emphasises the word by tapping her on the nose, making her blink. He laughs at her expression before continuing. "You decided to sit on the wrong side of the bench. And by the time you'd turned around, I'd forgotten all about eating. So, forgive me for having two bites of an apple."

"Well that's not _my _fault that you thought it was better to stare at me than actually eat something." She pauses, crossing her arms and trying to look annoyed. "You missed out on the best bacon, by the way." She adds, unable to stop herself.

"Who needs bacon when you've got a perfect green apple?" He takes another bite, smaller this time, before throwing it to her. She catches it (well, nearly drops it) and narrows her eyes at him. "What? You wanted it, didn't you?"

"You took all the best bits," she mumbles, turning the apple between her fingers.

"Come off it, Granger," he laughs, his gorgeous laugh ringing in her ears as a blush creeps up her cheeks.

She stares at the apple, pursing her lips for a second, finally taking a tiny bite. She holds it out to him. "Here."

He takes the apple, bites into it, then passes it back. For a few minutes, they carry on this routine in silence, until they reach the core of the apple. Hermione hands the core to him with a small smile on her red-tinged face, and he holds it for a moment. His fingers absently seek out the stem and he frowns.

"What's wrong?" She asks, leaning against the wall opposite him, hands behind her back and legs crossed at the ankles. She can see his watch where his robe sleeve has ridden up – they still have another ten minutes before the lesson begins.

"Do you not remove the stem?"

"What?" She looks at his fingers twisting the stem. "No, why should I?"

"I thought you of all people would play a game with the stem – because you seem like the kind to search for little things like that."

"A game?"

He moves so that he's now next to her, leaning against the wall with his right shoulder. His attention is completely on her. "You twist the stem, and every full turn is a letter; some people do numbers too. You ask a question like… Well, the one I always do is '_What is the name of my true love_?' so then you twist it and the letter it breaks on is the initial of your true love."

"It seems silly." She looks at him the way an older sibling looks at the younger one.

"It may be silly, but it's a fun little thing." He holds the core out to her. "It's just a stupid game, Granger. It's not going rot your brain."

She rolls her eyes before taking the apple core from him, her fingers brushing his and sending a shock down her spine. She recoils, straightening and holding the apple in front of her. "Fine." She takes hold of the stem, and asks in an annoyed voice: "What is the name of my true love?" She gives him a sideways glance to tell him she wasn't amused, and begins to twist the stem. "A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M…" The stem snaps off in her fingers and she stares at it. Was it really on _M_? or was it more like _N_?

"See, it's stupid but it's a cute little game." His voice makes her jump – she'd gotten so lost in her thoughts that she'd forgotten that he was next to her. He plucks the core from her hand, crunching through it until there was nothing left.

"I hate it when you do that," she mumbles, her attention still on the stem in her fingers.

"Do what?" He asks, still chewing through his last bite.

"Now, now, Malfoy: it's rude to talk with your mouth full," she mocks his words from ten minutes earlier, and he reaches out and shoves her gently. She laughs, finally looking at him and seeing he's smiling at her. "When you eat the core is what I meant."

"What's so wrong with that? I'm not wasting anything."

"Apple trees will grow in your stomach if you eat the seeds."

She says it so matter of fact-ly that he snorts, laughing so hard that his head smacks against the stone wall – which only makes him laugh harder, while he rubs the painful spot. In the midst of his laughter, he hears her gasp, sees her surprised, almost _worried_ face, as he hits his head. He sees her go to reach for him, and he sees her hesitation.

"You can't possibly believe that, Granger. Someone as smart as you _cannot _believe that." He says between laughs. He's still holding the painful spot on his head, and now that he's not laughing as hard the pain shoots through him. He bites his tongue as tears well in his eyes.

"I mean… I don't see how it would be possible, but it's always made me uneasy about it." She sees the tears in his eyes from the pain in his head and finally tells herself:_stop being a coward, Hermione_! "Come here – lean down." He bends slightly, and she looks at the back of his head. There's a small lump, slightly red and angry.

She runs her fingers through the downy softness of his hair, longing to tangle her fingers in it as she kisses him endlessly; longing to be able to run her fingers through it whenever she wants to; longing to wake up in the morning and feel the tickle of his white-blond hair against her cheek.

Longing for _him_.

In every possible sense, Hermione longs for him – for his touch, for his voice, for his laughter. For the way he looks at her when he thinks she's not looking. For everything and everything, she longs for a stupid, impossible, improbable life with him.

"Oh my God, Malfoy!" She gasps in surprise, and he jolts. She presses her fingers against the lump and he inhales sharply though his gritted teeth.

"What? What is it?" There is measured panic in his voice.

"You're bleeding!"

"I'm _what_?" His voice rises an octave or two and he tries to straighten. She keeps one hand pressed on his shoulder to keep him bent down.

"Oh, God, it's turning your hair red – you look like Ron!"

He lifts his hand and pats it against his head, his fingers once again brushing the skin of her hand. "Where? I can't feel anything."

She gasps. "Malfoy, if you can't feel anything it means you've damaged your brain! How are you ever going to be top of the class now!"

He stops feeling around his head and straightens again – this time she lets him. He gives her a Look – a Look that says _you're soooo funny, Granger_ – and she smiles sweetly up at him. "Wow, Granger. You had me there, for a second," he pauses, running his fingers through his hair. "I mean _wow_. That was evil."

"You've done worse."

"I've never pretended you were injured." He counteracts.

"Boohoo, you big baby."

He pushes her again, and she pushes him back. He smirks at her. "I love it when we make cute nicknames for each other."

"Oh yeah? What's my nickname?"

"Your nickname is Bully, Granger."

She gapes at him in mock shock. "That's rich coming from _you_."

He leans towards her so his face is inches from hers – nose to nose – and Hermione can't help but wonder what would happen if she leaned forward and closed the distance, nudged his nose with hers and pressed her lips lightly (or harshly) against his. "_Everything _is rich coming from me, Granger. It's who I am." His voice is smooth yet rough, his smirk playful yet challenging. His grey eyes seem to sparkle a thousand shades as she stares into them. He winks at her and she shoves him gently by the shoulder.

"Ha ha, Malfoy." She rolls her eyes and he laughs, leaning against the wall next to her again, his hands in his pockets. He turns to her and opens his mouth to say something, but stops once he hears voices around the corner. The smile drops from his face, and she wants to reach out and push the corners of his mouth up again, if only to see his dazzling smile just for a second more.

He pushes off the wall and stands opposite her once again, arms crossed as he glares at her, a perfect sneer plastered across his face. She finds it worrying how easily he is able to turn his emotions on and off, how easy it is for him to act like he hates her – or perhaps act like he likes her. She wonders how he learnt how to shut himself off the way he does, and how young he was when he first needed to do it. Unable to bring herself to look horridly upon him, she decides not to look at him at all; instead she stares at a point on the floor where two stones connect, her hands playing with her robes – balling it up in her fists and releasing it, repeating the process over and over – rocking slightly on her heels.

Harry turns the corner with a stony expression, Ron and Lavender following close behind. He spots her instantly with narrowed eyes. "Why did you leave? You left me with Ginny flirting with Dean, and _this_." He jabs his finger in the direction of Lavender cooing over Ron, obsessively running her hands up and down his arm as she blinks at him.

"I can't deal with your conspiracies, Harry. I've made that clear more than enough times." Hermione shakes her head, exasperated. "I just knew that you were going to go off on one again and I couldn't do it today, I'm sorry," she mumbles. Of course, she isn't really sorry, but the only way to keep Harry happy and not suspecting of anything is to just smooth things out – whether you like it or not.

Harry sighs and runs his hand through his messy hair. "No, 'Mione, _I'm _the one who's sorry. You're right, I shouldn't be going into it as much as I am. But there's just something…_off_ with him, don't you think?"

"If you think there's something off with me, _Potter_, maybe you should use some of that Gryffindor bravery and say it to my face." The drawl comes from behind him, and Hermione sees Harry's muscles tense, his jaw clench, his hands curl into fists at his sides. He turns, and though she can't see his face, she can tell by his demeanour that his face is dark.

"Maybe you should stay out of other people's business, Malfoy."

"Harry, stop it. What did you just say?" She grabs his arm to pull him back, and when he stumbles a step towards her, she can see Malfoy's shadowed eyes over his shoulder. She takes a step in front of Harry, scared in case one (or both) of them decides to pull their wand out. "He's just trying to piss you off." She speaks looking directly into Malfoy's eyes, her words directed at both of them. She sees his eyes widen at her unexpected profanity, the tiniest smirk tugging at his lips.

"Remember, Granger. You and me, this lesson, wasn't it?" He wiggles his brows at her, and Hermione feels herself about to scream – _how _could he act incredible in every way when they're alone, yet act like a complete jerk around everyone else?

"Yes, Malfoy. I'm not an idiot, remember?" She hisses, glaring at him.

He raises one eyebrow. "Did I say that you were?" His voice is soft and smooth, and Hermione feels her skin prickle.

"It was implied."

"I'd _never _think that of you, Miss Granger," he glances over her shoulder at Harry – she can feel the anger radiating off of him. "I'm not sure we can say that about everyone in the corridor."

Harry starts, pushing past Hermione and getting right up to Malfoy. "If you're suggesting that I think Hermione is-"

"And _what_ exactly is happening here, Mr Potter?" A low voice comes from behind them, and Hermione turns to see Snape stood next to the door to the classroom.

"Nothing, Professor." Harry snaps, not taking his eyes from Malfoy. Malfoy, on the other hand, isn't even looking at him – his head is turned in Hermione's direction, seemingly ignorant as to the other boy that is nearly standing on his toes.

"Then kindly step away from Mr Malfoy before I begin removing house points."

Harry huffs, but thankfully takes a step back.

"Now, into the classroom. We have lots to do." Snape's drawl makes the supposed urgency the words are meant to hold almost unsettling. One by one, they file into the classroom, and Hermione sees the blank, not-really-angry expression on Malfoy's face.

Before she enters the room, she stops, inclining her head towards him slightly and murmuring: "You look prettier when you smile, you know."

Pinkness appears almost instantly on his cheeks, and he follows her into the room. As he passes past the table that she has decided to place her things at, he leans in until his lips almost brush her ear.

"Right back at you, Granger."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**A/N: Hi all! It's been a while - I'm so sorry! I've just handed in my last piece of uni work for the year and now I'm freeee! And (hopefully) this means I'll be able to stick to a more regular uploading schedule. It's a rather short one today just to get back into the swing of things, but I hope you like it! Thanks for all of your kind reviews on the last chapter as well - they really make my day to read; it's so nice that you're all enjoying it, and it just feels so nice to have your work appreciated, you know :)). Before we begin: !Emetophobia Warning! (I myself am emetophobic, so I know some people might want a warning beforehand as I know I sometimes struggle to read about it (I don't know why I wrote it because even that made me feel... Not Right... but I think it's just a natural reaction to some emotions)) Anyway! I've waffled on for long enough: please enjoy this chapter! I'll be back soon! Love, CrazyAsACupcake**

At the back of the classroom, next to an asleep Theodore Nott, Malfoy is lost in thought. His cheek is propped up by his left hand as he draws lazy swirls across his parchment with a stunning red ink his mother sent him as a gift. As his quill moves, his mind (and his eyes) are on Hermione, who is, of course, feverishly jotting down notes as Snape continues his with his bored drawl at the front of the classroom. Her hand shoots up numerous times, either in question or answer, and Malfoy smirks when he sees Snape's eyes roll after the fourth time. Snape continues on with his lecture, and Malfoy finds himself completely focused on the pattern he's etching into the corner of the parchment – watching intently as it travels, engulfing half of the page, his mind completely tuned into the quiet, calming scratch of the quill against the parchment. He doesn't notice Snape stop talking, eyes narrowed and pointed straight at him. When Snape begins a slow, methodical walk through the tables towards him, his head is still bent, his tongue slightly peeking from between his lips as he concentrates on the squiggles and loops that he has now completely covered the page with. He doesn't notice the hushed giggles and whispers as Snape stands beside the table and stares down at him.

"Mister Malfoy." Snape's voice, so close to him, makes Malfoy jump (although jump might be an understatement: perhaps it was more of a _lurch_).

"Hello, Professor," he smiles easily, placing down his quill gently and sitting up a tiny bit straighter. "Can I help you?"

Snape sneers, and Malfoy resists the urge to sneer back. _Remember your place, Draco_, he tells himself, swallowing as he sees a dark, cold fire in Snape's eyes.

"Is my lesson boring you?"

"No, Professor."

"So why, may I ask, haven't you taken any notes? I was under the impression that you wish to become an Auror once you leave Hogwarts, do you not?"

Malfoy feels goosebumps rising on his arms, feels his skin going hot and cold at once as he's put on the spot, as everyone's eyes are on him without him wanting them to be (which was a first, for him). "Well, yes, Professor. But-"

"Or are you more intent on becoming an artist instead?" Snape interrupts, pinching the parchment between his index finger and thumb, lifting it off the table to show the class the design Malfoy had been more interested in drawing. "How much would this sell for, Mister Malfoy, do you think?"

Malfoy swallows again, but he doesn't take his eyes away from Snape's. His already-short fuse has been lit, but he doesn't even blink. He doesn't rise to the challenge, he doesn't speak back, he doesn't argue – even though every single nerve in his body is _screaming _at him. Telling him to snap, telling him to be the evil little snark he's known for, telling him to push all of Snape's buttons – and he did know all of them – telling him to _stand up for himself, dammit_!

But he doesn't.

Instead he just sits there and takes it, his muscles tense, his jaw set. He can't afford to argue, he can't afford to get kicked out when he is _so close_ to finishing his task. He can't afford to put himself in the bad books of the one person who's looking out for him. So he takes it. He bites his pretty pink tongue with his pretty white teeth until he can taste pretty red blood in his mouth.

Snape turns the parchment so he's looking at it, one dark brow raised as he assesses Malfoy'sdaydream doodle. Malfoy can feel his heart pounding inside his head as Snape looks back at him. "If I am not mistaken, Mister Malfoy, this would sell for a rather large sum in a _Muggle_ art gallery."

He sees the slight twitch of Snape's lip as he stops himself from smirking. His blood pounds through his veins, echoing though his head, not quite muting the giggles from the oh-so-perfect Gryffindors across the room. His vision blurs as he clenches his jaw harder, not worried about breaking his teeth.

Finally, his fuse runs out.

"How _dare _you suggest that my work is horrid enough to hang in a Muggle gallery," he spits, the words like venom in his mouth. He sneers up at his professor – his guardian – his eyes narrowed.

Snape leans in close, his lank hair falling in front of his eyes as he glares at Malfoy. He can feel his hot breath on his skin – the stale smell making his stomach swirl like the design on the parchment. "Have I touched a nerve, Mister Malfoy? I just think you might have better things to do than scribble pretty nonsense on your parchment." And he knows – he knows that Snape knows that he hasn't completed his task, that he isn't even close to completing it. He knows that Snape knows that he's distracted and he's afraid and he's angry and he's frustrated and he's _tired_ – oh, Merlin, he's so _tired_.

But he doesn't care. Why would he? As far as Malfoy is concerned Snape only cares about keeping him safe in relation to his task. He doesn't care about how Malfoy is feeling. No, Snape only cares about finishing the job.

Malfoy scrapes the chair back, suddenly feeling very hot, his forehead slick with sweat. He grabs his bag from the floor and crosses the room in four strides, yanking the door open.

He hesitates, and in that hesitation, Snape's calm drawl washes over him. He doesn't turn around – not yet, anyway – but he can _hear _the smirk in his voice.

"Mister Malfoy, is it really the best thing for you to be leaving class? You still have so much work to do."

There it is again. The double meaning. _You still have so much work to do_.

He whirls back towards the classroom, barely glancing at Hermione (who is discretely pulling her bag into her lap, never once taking her eyes from the rage-filled blond boy stood in the doorway) as he glares at Snape. A hungry fire licks through his veins, his hands clenching into fists as he lets it all out.

"Just fuck _off_, why don't you! Get off my fucking back for _once_! Do you know how tired I am of all of this? I know how much work I have left but if you just left me to fucking _do it _then maybe it wouldn't be so difficult - so just _fuck off_ and let me do what I need to fucking do! For once, just _get fucked_!"

His cheeks burn as he screams at his _guardian_ from across the room, sees his eyes darken in (Anger? Hatred? Disgust?) _pity_ as he hurls these words at him, drawing them from the pit of his stomach. He tries to mush every emotion he's felt in the past few weeks into these words, and he hopes that Snape can feel their weight.

The door doesn't so much slam behind him as it does thud, and he marches quickly down the corridor, his tie feeling too tight around his throat as he pushes into a bathroom. He tugs it loose, just making it into the closest cubicle as his stomach heaves. He collapses onto his knees as he vomits into the toilet, his warm cheek pressed against the cool porcelain as he flushes it. He struggles to catch his breath, his eyes fluttering closed as he kneels there for Merlin knows how long.

The bathroom door opens, and he flushes the toilet again, in hopes it gets rid of any lingering smell.

He hears soft footsteps come towards the cubicle, but he doesn't move. He doesn't even kick the door shut. He's too _tired_.

"Malfoy?"


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**A/N: Hi all! I had a few questions on when I'll be updating: for now it will be at least once a week. I can't give a definite day but know that you will be getting at least one chapter a week for this story :D. Also, thank you all so, so much for the reviews! It makes my day to read them, it's such a huge motivator for me to keep writing - both this fanfic and my own stories - and it honestly just makes me so happy that you're all enjoying reading this as much as I enjoy writing it :)). P.S. I was watching Into the Spiderverse while writing this and I really love the "Who's Morales?" scene so I just had to include it! Thank you all, and enjoy! Love, CrazyAsACupcake **

He doesn't turn around. He doesn't have to. He knows _exactly _who is stood behind him.

"Malfoy?" She repeats.

He imagines her stood there with her wide eyes and her bushy hair, and he can't help but smile – even where he sits, crumpled beside the toilet. He thinks about how panicked she must be about leaving Snape's lesson, and he starts laughing. It bubbles up from his stomach and he laughs into the toilet, his cheek still pressed against the porcelain.

It's difficult to believe that only this morning they'd shared an apple, they'd joked and laughed and he'd been okay. It's difficult to believe that this weight that was suddenly crushing him hadn't been there forever.

There's a dull _thud _from behind him as she drops her bag onto the floor, and then she's crouched beside him. Her arm is slung around his shoulders, her fingers raking through his hair. The sensation of her nails slightly dragging across his scalp is calming, and his eyes shut as he relaxes. It's difficult to believe they'd only been friends for two weeks.

"Oh, Malfoy…" She murmurs beside him, her fingers still running through his hair. She pulls her bag towards her and roots through it, before pulling out a strip of Polo mints. He watches as she peels back the foil, taking one mint out. "Here." He takes it from her, too weak to be suspicious of the little white sweet, places it on his tongue and sucks on it. Soon, he feels slightly better – though he doesn't know if that's from her being here with him, or if the mint is actually helping settle his stomach. Either way, he doesn't need to be hugging the toilet anymore, and so he adjusts his position. He is now leaning against one wall of the cubicle, facing Hermione as she sits against the other. His legs are crossed, and her feet are inches away from his legs, her knees pulled up towards her chin.

She's staring at him.

"Like what you see, Granger?" He asks, though he knows he's not his best. His voice is low and drowsy, he's paler than normal.

"Not as much as I normally do," she answers, smiling gently at him. She holds her hand up, fingers splayed, and he reaches across and laces his fingers with hers. They sit there for a moment, connected. Hermione takes mental pictures of their hands entwined, unsure of when (or if) she will ever be able to experience it again. Her thumb rubs against his skin gently, and he shakes their hands from side to side before letting go.

"Thanks, Granger."

"No problem, Malfoy." She holds out the packet of Polos to him and he takes another one. "I forgot to tell you, I received an owl from my parents yesterday." She nudges him slightly with the toe of her shoe.

"Oh, yeah?" His brow quirks as he talks around the Polo. He crunches down on it; "Merlin, these are good aren't they?"

She smiles shyly as she takes one for herself. "They're my favourites."

"What did it say? The letter."

"Well, they've set the guest bedroom up for you, and they have some rules that they want to explain to you. They're quite worried you might kill them while they're asleep for being Muggles…"

"Oh, come off it, Granger. I couldn't do that," his eyes glint as he smirks at her. "I'm not old enough to use magic outside of Hogwarts."

"Hey!" She reaches across and smacks him lightly on the arm.

"_Ow_!" He gasps, laughing and rubbing the area where she had hit him.

"Come off it, Malfoy. I didn't hit you that hard."

"I demand an apology!"

"You can _demand_ all you want, you big baby."

"At least give me another one of those," he points at the pack of Polos in her hand, the injured act suddenly dropped.

"There's only 3 left," she moans, pouting as she clutches the packet. He laughs.

"Now who's the baby?"

"Can you let me finish what I was going to say?"

"Okay then, baby." His cheeks flare as soon as he says it. "That's… That's not how I meant it."

"Sure it's not, baby." She smirks as his cheeks glow brighter, his eyes flickering away from hers in embarrassment. "_Anyway_, my parents said that they've set the guest room up – they said they specifically dug out green bedding for you so I hope you feel special. Oh, and they're not putting the tree up until we arrive, so we're all going to decorate it together." She grins

"So, I'll be going with you straight from Kings Cross?"

"Yes. You don't have to interact with me on the train if you don't want to, in case your friends are going home as well." The way her eyes shift from him, the way her fingers play with the hem of her skirt says otherwise. There is no way she would be fine spending seven hours on the train alone; even the biggest bookworm needs company every once in a while. But she knows it's probably a stupid wish, for him to sit beside her on the train. For them to laugh and talk and _exist_. It's not possible, not if his friends are going home, because someone will see them, and they will _ruin everything_. And even though there is an extraordinarily large chunk of Hermione that wants them to sit together and enjoy the first few hours of Christmas freedom together, she knows that if she wants her perfect little impossible friendship to last, it just can't happen.

Malfoy knows this, too. He knows what will happen is Blaise or Theo see him with her. He wants to not care – wants to say, _fuck it, let them see_ – but he can't. If anyone saw, one way or another the news gets back to his mother, back to his father, back to _Him_. What would that mean, he wonders, for his mother? For him? For _her_? The thought of her even being vaguely in danger makes his stomach churn once more.

"Is there a plan," he asks, moving his thoughts away from a terrible image of Hermione, wide-eyed and unblinking, staring up at him from the polished wooden floor of Malfoy Manor. "For the holiday?"

"I don't know – I don't think so. We'll find out when we get there." She pulls the last three Polos from the foil, crumpling it in her hand and stuffing it into her robe pocket. "Open."

He opens his mouth and she leans forward to put the mint on his tongue. He bites for her fingers and she pulls her hand back, scowling at him, and he can't help but laugh. She's so easy to annoy, so easy to rile up, and even though he knows he should be panicking and thinking of a way – any way – to complete his task, it's almost as if she turns him into someone else. As if when he's with her, he can be Draco Malfoy: Prefect, prospective Head Boy, charmer, friend, (boyfriend?). Not Draco Lucius Malfoy: Blood purist – blood _supremacist_ – Death Eater, prat, bully, the Boy to Kill Dumbledore.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry." He finally finishes laughing, and opens his mouth again. This time, she is sceptical, hesitating before reaching across. Just before she can shove the sweet in his mouth, he reaches up and grabs her wrist, before licking all the way down her hand – from her palm to where his fingers are around her wrist. As she recoils, shrieking, he snatches the Polo from her and pops it happily into his mouth. "That's for hitting me."

"I barely touched you!" She holds her arm away from her. "Why was it so _wet_?"

"Because I _licked _you, Granger. Don't you know what spit is?"

"You're _vile_, Malfoy." She hisses, her lip curled.

He leans forward, his hands pressed against the tiled floor. Their faces are inches apart, she can smell the mint that is slowly melting on his tongue as he grins at her. "So you keep saying, Granger."

"So you keep proving, Malfoy," she retorts. She swallows, her eyes never leaving his. This close she can see the multiple different colours that swirl in the grey – a hundred shades of green and blue and yellow – and the evil little glint he gets when he's trying to get her worked up. Her mouth feels dry as he smirks at her. She takes a breath, unintentionally inhaling that uniquely Malfoy smell – that intoxicating scent that seems to seep into every nook and cranny of her brain, making it so that she can't stop thinking about him. Or at least, she tells herself that's why she can't stop thinking about him.

In reality, she doesn't want to stop thinking about him.

He stands, reaching down and grabbing her slimy, spit covered hand and hauling her up beside him. "Come on, Granger."

"'_Come on_' where?"

"Anywhere. _Everywhere_!" He exits the stall and spins, his robe billowing around him, arms outstretched. Behind him, Hermione shakes her head and picks up their bags. "Let's just _go_."

"We can't '_just go_', Malfoy," Hermione laughs, going to the sink and thoroughly washing her hands. He washes his as well (her hand was _really_ wet) and leans against one of the basins as he watches her. As he pulls his bag from her shoulder, his brow creases as he assesses her.

She glances at him from the corner of her eye and sighs, rolling her eyes. "What now, Malfoy?"

"Come on, Granger," he laughs, still not looking away from her. "You love me really."

"Do I? And '_Come on, Granger_' seems to be becoming your catchphrase."

"Yes, you do. And yes, it is."

"What are you looking at me like that for?"

"Why'd you do your hair like that?" He points at her bun, and she instinctively reaches up to touch it.

"I just wanted it out of the way, I suppose."

He nods sagely. "It looks nice."

"Well thank you, but I didn't do it for you."

"Did I say you did?"

"No, but-"

"Stop being so defensive, Granger, all I said was it looks nice."

She rolls her eyes again, turning towards him. "And I said thank you."

"That's all that needs to be said." He begins walking backwards towards the door, hands shoved in his trouser pockets. "Come on then."

"Where are we going? You _do_ realise we're meant to be in a lesson, and I don't want to get thrown out for missing anything important-"

"Relax," he interrupts, grinning. "We were meant to be in a double, so we still have an hour left. You're not going to miss much – maybe the practical part of the lesson, but…" He pauses for a second, thinking. "I'm sorry we didn't get to do nonverbal jinxes, by the way. I know you were probably looking forward to causing me some damage."

"Oh, Malfoy. It's cute that you think I can only cause damage during a lesson." She pats him condescendingly on the shoulder as she moves past him, leaving the bathroom (checking to make sure no one would see them _not in lesson_). He falls into step beside her, his shoes clacking against the stone floor.

"Oh, Granger. It's cute that you think you're not too goody-goody to jinx me outside of class."

"I _could_!"

"No, Granger, you really couldn't." He mimics her condescending shoulder pat and she practically growls at him. "Where to go, what to do… lets go to the library!"

"Now you're mocking me."

"No, I'm not. We can't go to the Quidditch pitch because you don't like flying and it'll be rather boring to fly around on my own. We can't go to the courtyard because first years are probably doing their flying lessons. Lunch won't be ready for another hour, and I don't think either of us want Potty and Weasel to see us together. Which leaves the library, so that's where we're going."

"You didn't seem bored the last time when you were picking on me."

"And as much as I enjoy picking on you, it does get boring after a while. I _can _be nice, you know."

"Can you?"

"Right, changed my mind." He pivots, robes swishing as he turns down another corridor. "We're going to the pitch."

She smiles. "It's actually nice weather, as well! I have my scarf and gloves in my bag, I can sit and read my book while you fly around, it'll be so relaxing!"

He frowns and shakes his head. "No, I don't think so."

"You don't think _what_?"

"If we're going to the pitch, _I'm _going to try to get _you _onto a broom, too."

"Malfoy, no!" Her stomach drops, her face paling. "You just said about how I don't like flying – I can't even keep it level!"

"I said I was going to _try_, and I didn't say you had to be on your own broom." They go down a small staircase, coming out at the entrance to Slytherin Dungeon, arriving at the entrance to the Common Room. "I'll be right back." He speaks the password, the wall opens, and he slips away, winking at her as the door slides shut.

With her hands deep in her robe pockets, she scuffs one of her regulation black shoes against the stone floor. There is absolutely _no way_ she is getting on a broom – not alone or otherwise. Thinking about falling, the broom just _stopping_, plummeting towards the ground with no way to stop because of the panic that would seize her muscles and stop her from thinking about the right spell. Her arms already feel stiff as she crosses them over her chest.

As she's thinking, the wall across from her opens once more, and Malfoy steps out, carrying his Nimbus and a bag.

"Come on, Granger," he grins, eyes sparkling.

"Malfoy, I really _really_ don't want to go on a broom."

"And I won't force you to. Hold this," he hands her the bag and she takes it, slinging it over her shoulder with her bookbag. "The option is just there if you change your mind."

"Believe me, I'm not going to." They exit the dungeon and leave the building. There's a slight chill in the air, so Hermione makes Malfoy stop so that she can dig out her scarf and gloves. She can already feel her nose turning red; she makes a mental note to torture Malfoy if she ends up getting a cold.

"You couldn't have done this while we were walking?" He huffs, rubbing his hands together. She glances up at him and realises he isn't wearing his robe – hadn't been wearing it since their visit to the Slytherin Common Room. His grey jumper seems to emphasise his lean muscles as he crosses his arms, and she darts her eyes away, thankful for the cold air to mask the burning of her cheeks. He wrinkles his nose at her as she pulls her red and gold scarf from her bag. "What was that for, Granger?"

_Play dumb_.

"Who's Granger?"

_Not that dumb_!

"What was that look for?" He waits as she wraps the scarf around her neck.

"I didn't give you a look."

"If you say so." It's Malfoy's turn to roll his eyes as he begins walking towards the Quidditch changing rooms, Hermione practically skipping trying to keep up with him. "Give me the bag."

"A _please_ wouldn't go unappreciated," she mumbles, pulling the bag from her shoulder.

"_Please_ can I have my bag?"

"Certainly. There's no need to be a grouch."

He takes the bag from her outstretched hand and glowers at her, one shoulder againt the door to the changing room. "I am _not _being a grouch."

"If you say so," she smirks, reaching up and patting his face lightly. With one last smile in his direction, she turns on her heel, and walks towards the pitch.

He chuckles to himself as he watches her go, the breeze lifting the hem of her robes and making them flutter behind her. He leans on the door and falls into the small room, and quickly gets changed into his practice gear – his green and grey jumper, black jeans, leather gloves. He kicks his dress shoes off, swapping them for a pair of old brown boots.

At the bottom of the bag, a second green and grey jumper sits, waiting. He pulls it out and smiles softly to himself, before exiting the changing room with his Nimbus in his hand.

Hermione is stood in the centre of the pitch, clutching a pair of red and gold gloves in her hands. Her cheeks are scarlet.

"Nice to know you found some gloves to match your face, Granger."

"Bugger off, Malfoy." The smile on her face tells him she's joking – not that he cares if she's not. "What's that?" She nods at the jumper in his hands.

"In case you decided you did want to come flying after all," her eyes widen and he quickly adds, "I'm not going to _make _you do anything – I'm not going to force you to fly on your own. But if you get bored you can come sit on the back of the Nimbus, if you want."

He tosses the jumper at her, laughing as she nearly drops it. The wool is soft between her fingers, and she resists the urge to smell it (she knows how weird it would look), wanting to smell that purely _Malfoy_ scent. She watches him with fond adoration as he mounts the Nimbus – she can't help but think about how incredible he is, how she trusts him despite the short time she's known him. She completely and utterly trusts him. "We'll see, Malfoy."

He catches her eye as he rises from the ground, and winks.

"I suppose we will, Granger."


	20. Chapter Twenty

For the first ten or so minutes, Hermione Granger has a great time. She sits in the centre of the pitch and listens to the breeze while she reads through Advanced Potion-Making for the twelfth time. Occasionally, she looks up and sees Malfoy high above her head, perfectly content as he sits astride his broom. Sometimes she sees him while he's mid-dive, or just as he's shooting back towards the clear sky. Other times, he's just sat there, perfectly still, leaned back on the stirrups. It's those moments that make Hermione's heart pound and soar at the same time.

He just looks so calm, in those moments. When he's adjusting his gloves or running his hands through his hair, the broom unmoving underneath him, it's a tiny piece of Malfoy she never gets to see. The way he closes his eyes and tilts his face towards the sun with the slightest ghost of a smile on his lips; the way he grins over the stands and squints in the sunlight as he rolls his sleeves up (she can see the bandage from where she sits); the way he mutters to himself when he isn't diving fast enough. Teeny tiny little things that come together in making him. The dreamer, the teenager, the perfectionist – _Malfoy. _

After fifteen minutes, she gets rather bored. While Advanced Potion-Making is a brilliant book – well worth the rereads – Hermione finds herself beginning to fidget. Her mind wanders as she stares at the pages she's read before, the words not seeming to make sense as she gets frustrated with herself for reading the same paragraph – the same _sentence_ – multiple times. More and more often she leans backwards to watch him, not just a glance, but actually _watching_. He doesn't notice her, at first. He's in his own little world, and Hermione doesn't want to break that little bubble of his. Eventually, he does notice, but he doesn't let her know that. Instead, he does what he does best: annoys her until she shouts at him.

Waiting until she's turned, annoyedly, back to her book, he dives, silently pulling up when he's about three feet above her head. With a quick swing, he flings his left leg over the handle of the broom and – gripping the broom with the backs of his knees – lets himself drop. She lets out a yelp as he appears in front of her, misjudging it and nearly headbutting her, making him begin manically laughing as he tries to steady himself.

"Alright, Granger?" He grins once he gets his laughter under control. She scowls in response and stands, hitting for his shoulder, but he pulls himself up and out of her reach. He drops down again once she stops, still grinning.

"Prat," she mutters, sneering at him. "Stop doing that, you look like you're going to fall."

"If you keep hitting for me, then I will. Will you be sorry then?"

"Depends," she sniffs. "If it'll make you stop trying to get under my skin."

"Why would I stop," he huffs theatrically, the smirk still present in his eyes. "When it's just so much fun?"

"Because you know it scares me."

"Does it really, Granger? I suppose the reason you've been staring at me is because you're hopelessly in love with me, then."

"I am _not_."

"Oh, come on, Granger. We both know it's not the broom you're scared of riding."

She gapes at him with wide eyes. "_Malfoy_!" He starts laughing hysterically again – he can't help it, the redness on her cheeks is too funny to ignore. "Don't say such _vulgar _things!"

"If they're true, why shouldn't I?"

"It's not true!" She practically shrieks, pressing the palms of her hands against her cheeks to try and hide the creeping glow of scarlet. Malfoy pulls himself back onto the broom before lowering himself to the ground, hopping off gracefully.

"I always forget how short you are," he quips, smiling at her playfully as he props the end of the Nimbus' handle under his chin.

"I'm _not_ short – you're just too tall," she snaps back, glaring up at him.

"Just stop being stubborn and admit that you're bored."

"No."

"Fine, then I guess I'll just leave you here on your own with -" He squints at the spine of the book she's clutching in her hands. "Advanced Potion-Making. If that's what you really want."

"It's a fascinating read."

"Sure it is."

She scowls, dropping back to where she sat cross legged on the floor. He doesn't miss the way she fidgets as he slowly mounts the Nimbus, the huff she gives when she opens the book to a random page. He smirks as a frown causes the space between her brows to crease, her right cheek pushed up by the palm of her hand as she rests on it. With a slight chuckle, he dismounts, striding over to her and grabbing her by the wrist, pulling her up to her feet. Another yelp escapes her as she stumbles.

"Go put the jumper on."

She rolls her eyes, but picks the jumper up anyway. "What about my skirt? And my shoes?"

"Why do they matter?"

"Well, why does it matter whether I'm in my shirt or this jumper, then?" She huffs, blowing a stray strand of hair from in front of here eyes. He reaches out and pushes it behind her ear and she stiffens. Had he really just done that? It wasn't much, but it was enough to make her knees feel weak.

"Have you ever tried riding a broom in a stiff shirt? It's terribly uncomfortable. Plus the jumper is warmer." He doesn't seem phased by the thing. Why would he? He probably does it with every girl he interacts with, and it hurts Hermione's heart to think about that.

"Fine. _Fine_!" She drops her copy of Advanced Potion-Making onto the grass – for a second, at least, before she shoves it into her bag. "If I'm traumatised – if I _fall_ – I am never speaking to you again."

"You can threaten all you want, but you and I both know that you won't last twelve minutes without talking to me," he smirks, his hair flopping about as he tilts his head. She wants to reach out and brush it out of the way, like he did for her, but she knows that her doing it will be a much more intimate gesture than his was.

She rolls her eyes, unwilling to admit it. But he's right; she _wouldn't _be able to go back to hating him – not as easily as she pretends she's able to. To think they've only _interacted _for a week is insane. To think she's invited him to her _house _– somewhere Ron and Harry have never been – is shocking. To think that this boy occupies more of her mind than her two best friends is baffling. To think that she could fall for him so hard, _knowing_ who he is – who he was – and still believing that he is able to save is unimaginable.

Yet here we are.

She huffs once more, before turning and going into the changing rooms. There's no use arguing with him: he's just as stubborn as she is. She just isn't sure whether or not that's a good thing.

She quickly changes, her fingers numb with the cold as she undoes the buttons to her shirt. She neatly folds them, placing them beside Malfoy's bag on the bench. Her robe is hung on a peg above her, and she makes sure it falls in exactly the right way so it doesn't crease. The jumper is miles too big for her – no surprise, really – and when she pulls it on, she brings the collar of it up to her nose so she can smell it (and she knows she looks like a weirdo). It smells of him, and it makes her mind swirl in a haze of French cologne and green apples.

It's Hermione's favourite smell.

The jumper comes to her mid-thigh, which is halfway down her skirt, and so she looks quite odd as she walks out of the changing rooms. She's not sure whether she wants to tuck it in or not, but just as she's decided to Malfoy turns, so she just has to deal with it. Luckily the sleeves are long enough for her to pull over her hands.

He grins when he sees her. "Gee, Granger, you could've told me you looked good in green. I would've asked you to wear it more often."

She smirks and rolls her eyes, before remembering the last conversation they had had about the colour green. "Since we're both wearing green now, Malfoy, who do you think looks better?"

His eyes travel from the top of her head down to her shoes, then back up, and he pouts as he thinks. She can see the glimmer in his eyes, the slight tinge on his cheeks. He opens his mouth, hesitates, then finally speaks. "Well, you do look stunning in green, Granger. But we have to agree that I am unmatched. I mean, look at me." He does a little spin, before looking at her with a raised brow, and Hermione laughs.

"Of course you're this self-centred."

"You can't deny I look like a king in this colour."

"I never said you didn't, did I?"

"Oh, so you admit it?" He smirks, and she frowns.

"Admit what?"

"That you think I'm absolutely drop-dead gorgeous and you're head-over-heels in love with me."

"I never said that, I said you were self-centred despite you looking good in green. It wouldn't have killed you to compliment someone other than yourself for once, Malfoy."

He makes a _psh_ noise. "I compliment you all the time – I complimented you twenty minutes ago!" He scowls at her and she smiles sweetly back at him. "Fine, you win. Miss Hermione Granger you look like a queen in that colour. It makes you look like a million galleons. It makes you look perfect – more perfect than usual."

"Thank you, Mister Draco Malfoy, that's very sweet," she murmurs, her voice low, suddenly shy. "But you're wrong, you do look the best out of the both of us."

He holds his hands up, a small smile creeping across his face. "Lets just agree that we both look the best, and leave it there." He holds his hand out for the Nimbus, silent as it shoots upwards into his open palm. He swings his leg over it, then looks at her. "Get on then."

She begins to mount the broom behind him, but he stops her.

"No, Granger. In front."

"But I thought you normally rode on the back?"

"_Normally_, but you don't want to fall, and I don't want you to fall. If you sit in front of me I can cage you in. It's safer than trusting you to keep hold."

"You let go all the time!"

"I've been flying since I was little, I know how to keep my balance. You're scared, and the only way I can think of having you _not panic_ is by me forcibly keeping you on the broom."

And so she mounts the broom with her back to his chest, suddenly hyper aware of where his arms come into contact with hers. She can feel his chin against the back of her head, and imagines him planting a calming kiss there.

"Scoot back a bit." She shuffles backwards towards him, stopping inches before her back touches him, and she hears him laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing," he chuckles, adjusting his grip on the sleek handle. He pushes off the ground, and soon they're hovering a foot above the grass. "So, you're going to lean forward slightly, so I'll be able to actually fly this thing."

She does what he says, leaning further forward. He leans, too, his chest coming into contact with her back. Despite there being two thick wool jumpers between them, a shiver courses down her spine. She begins thinking about him against her, like this. Coming up behind her to hug her, kissing her head. Spooning in bed as they fall asleep, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his face nuzzled into the crook of her neck. She thinks about his bare chest against her bare back – skin on skin – and her cheeks (like always) heat up. She's thankful that she's not facing him, for she is certain that he would ask her what she was thinking of, if only to embarrass her.

"You ready?" His voice snaps her out of her thoughts.

"I suppose," she mumbles, her legs dangling awkwardly – Malfoy's feet are against the stirrups, so there isn't really anywhere for her to position them comfortably. As they hover there, he reaches forward one foot at a time, wrapping his foot around her ankle and pulling her leg back. They share the stirrups, his feet on the outside, hers on the inside. She finds it a lot easier to relax and lean forwards with her legs not hanging limply beneath them.

"Here we go."

The broom rises slowly, and he circles the pitch slowly – much slower than he would if he was alone. Hermione can feel how tense his muscles are, how much faster he wants to go, and she silently thanks him for keeping a steady pace. He takes them off the pitch, over the stands, towards the lake, passing over it. They're low enough that she can see her reflection staring up at her with equally wide eyes. Tentatively, she lowers her hand and brushes it against the surface of the water, a grin beginning to form as her fingertips cause ripples throughout the lake.

He begins to pick up speed, turning away from the lake and towards the castle, so Hermione pulls her hand back quickly, grabbing back onto the handle. The cuff of her sleeve is a slightly darker green than the rest of it.

"You better not have gotten my jumper wet," he huffs comically.

She laughs, knowing full well he can see the damp patch on the sleeve.

They head to the owlery, picking up speed again – and she doesn't mind. She feels invincible, when she's with him, at least. If she was alone she would probably have a breakdown. He circles the owlery, then the Astronomy tower, making a figure of eight between the two, before climbing higher into the sky. They travel in the direction of the pitch, though she can't see it (if she looked down, that is. But she won't). It's actually okay – okay-er than she thought it would be.

"Are you alright with diving, Granger?" He asks, his voice low, his breath against her ear. She nods, swallowing, slightly afraid – but what is life without a bit of fear?

The broom flips, the world going upside down for two seconds, and he dives. They shoot towards the ground in a spiral, and Hermione gasps. Suddenly, everything is not okay as they plummet back towards the hard earth, and she screams, her legs and arms like lead. Her eyes screw shut as she waits for them to hit the ground.

The handle of the broom is yanked upwards and she feels them stop, not going up or down, backwards or forwards. They just stay still, in mid-air, high above the pitch. She doesn't open her eyes.

He shifts his weight slightly – she can feel the broom wobble – and she whimpers. She feels his left arm wrap around her waist, pulling her towards him tightly, holding her still against him as he leans backwards. She can feel each individual finger as they lay splayed, pressed against her right side. Her eyes open slowly, and the first thing she sees is how bright the sky is – this beautiful blue that spreads further than she can see. She sees his right hand, next, his gloved hand gripping the broom handle tightly as he holds it level. It is all for show; Malfoy knows how to keep a broom level, but he knows that she wouldn't appreciate him taking his hands off. His left hand being off is probably too much for her.

He rests his chin on top of her head, and when he feels she's calmed down enough, he begins dropping the Nimbus back down to the pitch – not a dive this time, just a slow, steady drift downwards.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmurs over and over as they creep towards the grass. She wants to shush him, tell him she's alright, that it's not his fault, but for some reason she can't open her mouth.

They reach the pitch, Malfoy helping her dismount. Her legs feel like jelly, wobbly beneath her, and she's sure she's going to collapse. Malfoy is too, which is why he is stood in front of her, his hands an iron grip around her forearms. When he's certain she isn't about to fall, he pulls her towards him in a hug, whispering again how he's sorry, how he didn't mean to scare her, how he should have thought first. When he's done, he pulls back slightly and presses a kiss against her forehead. He eyes flutter shut as she savours the moment, his arms around her, his lips soft against her skin.

When his lips leave her forehead, she wilts. "I hope that can make up for it," he quips, though she can tell his heart isn't in it. He really is worried that he frightened her.

"You owe me lunch," she replies with a smile, poking him in the chest with her finger. "Which should be any minute now."

He grins back – glad he hasn't traumatised her after all. "Lunch it is." He grabs his Nimbus and starts towards the changing rooms, stopping when he realises she isn't following. "What, you don't want lunch anymore? Come on, you need to get changed."

"I'm not getting changed with you in there!" She gasps, clutching her bag to her chest. "You get changed first then come out here."

He chuckles, shaking his head and turning away from her, shoving the changing room door open with his shoulder, muttering to himself with a smile.

"Ever the prude, Granger."


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**A/N: It has been 2 months! I'm so bad I'm sorry :(( I haven't had a great couple of months, I've had no motivation to do anything and I've basically been staying in bed all day. I started stitching again last week, but I couldn't bring myself to write anything because a.) I felt bad about leaving it for so long and b.) I tried writing and I hated everything I came up with. I was also given tablets that help me fall asleep since I was going to bed at around 5am, and waking up at 2pm, so the time I normally write in I've actually been asleep (it's a win-lose situation haha). But I finally found the motivation to actually write something! Also after this chapter there's going to be a time jump of about 2 weeks to bring us up to Christmas! Thanks for reading, I appreciate you all so much. If you're still here after my 2 month absence you are absolutely amazing, and I'm so thankful for you! I hope you enjoy this (very, very, ****_very_**** late) chapter of And Malfoy Caught the Snitch! Love, CrazyAsACupcake x**

Malfoy changes quickly, sauntering back onto the pitch with a smirk on his face and his back on his shoulder. She's stood opposite the changing room door with her arms crossed, waiting. His smirk grows – if that's possible. "All yours, prude."

She scowls at him, marching past him with her nose in the air. She stops in the doorway, turning towards him. "There's nothing _prudish_ about wanting to get changed in private, Malfoy. Nothing wrong with not wanting people staring at you."

"Oh, but it's the other way around when _I'm_ the one getting changed isn't it," he fires back, his eyes glimmering as he watches her face shift. "Don't think I didn't know you were ogling me that day, Granger."

"I didn't _mean _to! I was trying to talk to you and you were getting changed and- I'm sorry!" Her ears feel hot, and she can't begin to imagine what her face looks like.

"I'm not asking for an _apology_," he shrugs, grinning. "I was just letting you know I knew." He checks his watch. "Hurry up, lessons about to end and I don't want to get caught in the crush on the way to the hall."

She spins around, leaving him alone on the pitch for about five minutes, kicking at the grass with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. When she comes back out, she's got his folded jumper in front of her, and holds it out to him. He wrinkles his nose in mock disgust.

"I don't want it."

"Why not?"

"It's got girl germs on."

"Malfoy!" She snaps, thrusting the jumper towards him. He recoils away, his hands up.

"Besides, I don't want to carry around _two _jumpers. It's only fair if you carry one."

"Oh yes, because it's so fair for me to carry around a jumper I didn't even want you to bring." Sarcasm drips from the drawled words, and he grins.

"See! You get it!" He places his hands on her shoulders. "I'm glad we understand each other." He begins walking past her, out of the pitch, and as she opens her mouth to respond he cuts her off. "Besides, the nights are getting colder, and it is exceptionally warm to sleep in. Not that you'd need to know that, of course."

She runs her thumb in circles over the soft material, biting the inside of her cheek as she thinks. Finally, she sighs, and shoves the jumper into her bag. He smirks and she glares at him. "Don't think you've won. I'm just done arguing with you."

"Of course," he nods sagely in agreement before bending to pick the Nimbus up from where it rests on the floor, then claps his free hand on her shoulder. He grins down at her. "Just remember to tell yourself that tonight when you put it on for bed."

Her eyes roll as she starts out of the pitch, hearing him behind her, the grass crisp beneath his springy steps. His left hand is deep in his pocket, the Nimbus held loosely in his right. He passes her, spinning around to walk backwards as he speaks to her.

"So, what're we getting for lunch today, little miss? Shall we have sandwiches by the lake?"

"Sandwiches instead of apples," she laughs. "Daring today are we?"

"I didn't say anything about '_instead of_', did I? One can't live solely off of apples, Granger, surely you know that."

"So it's sandwiches and apples," she smirks at him, folding her arms tightly over her chest as a chilling breeze washes over the grounds. He shivers, not exaggeratedly, but enough for her to notice. "I don't think by the lake is a good idea."

"Yeah, it doesn't seem like it, does it?"

"What's your next lesson?"

"You have a very high image of me if you think I'm actually planning on going to it."

"Of course you're going to go; if it comes down to it I won't hesitate to _imperio _you."

"You're going to _imperio _me to go to the library?" He laughs. "I'm free next lesson, so I'm probably going to nap for an hour or so."

"You're free?"

"Honestly, you think _I_ took Care of Magical Creatures or Ancient Runes?"

"Well, I knew you didn't take Ancient Runes, since _I'm _in that lesson." She huffs, blowing a strand of hair from in front of her eyes. "You should go to the library and do some work. You'll fall behind."

"Who cares if I fall behind?" He wrinkles his nose, turning back to face the way they're walking and falling into step beside her. He pushes the giant door open and she ducks under his arm and into the Entrance Hall. The Hall is empty; they just missed the crush, everyone is already in their seats scoffing their lunch down their throats before they trundle to their next lesson.

"You, presumably. At least somewhere underneath _this_," she waves her hand in his general direction as the door booms shut behind them.

"You just gestured to all of me."

"Did I? I didn't notice." She smirks and he nudges her slightly with his shoulder.

"There's bigger things on my mind than falling behind, Granger." He runs his hand through his hair.

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop doing that?"

"As many times as you want; I'm not listening."

"Charming, aren't you?"

He smirks, turning towards her and leaning in until they're nose to nose. "If you want to see _charming_, Granger, all you need to do is ask."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and twisting away from him. "I don't think I should have to ask. If you really wanted to charm someone, surely that's up to you."

They reach the Great Hall, Malfoy shifting the Nimbus from hand to hand.

"I'll go in," Hermione hands him her bag and smooths her skirt.

"Ham, please. For the sandwich."

She nods, smiling as she stares at him. "Never knew you were one for simplicity, Malfoy."

He smiles back. "Not everything has to be extreme. It's nice to not have to think about things every once in a while."

"I guess it is."

They stand there for a while, just smiling at each other.

He breaks first, clearing his throat. "So…"

"Sandwiches."

"And apples."

"Anything else?"

"Pumpkin juice. If possible. Please."

"What a combination," she laughs. She reaches into her bag that he is holding rather awkwardly, pulling her water bottle out. After downing the last mouthful of water, she steps towards the door. "See you in a minute."

He loops her bag handle over his shoulder before holding his hand up in a half-wave. "See you in a minute."

She slips into the Great Hall, sidestepping people stood in the aisles before she gets to the Gryffindor table. Without bothering to sit down, she picks up some slices of bread and assembles two sandwiches.

"Not staying, 'Mione?" Harry is sat across from where she is stood, cradling a mug of tea. A scowl is etched across his face.

"I'm going to go to the library for a bit. We have a test in Ancient Runes and I just want to go over a few things first." Her voice is just above a murmur as she slices the sandwiches into triangles.

"Are you going alone? You never have two sandwiches – you hardly ever manage to finish one."

"Yes, I'm going alone. I'm just a bit hungry."

"Well, me and Ron were worried about you. You left and didn't come back. You didn't even give a reason for leaving, you just ran out."

"I felt a bit sick, if you must know. Dizzy. I went to see Madam Pomfrey and she made me lie down for a bit. I did tell her I would be fine but she insisted." She reaches across the table and picks up two green apples, shoving them into her robe pocket.

"Two apples." Harry notes, his frown deepening. "I'm glad you're feeling better now. We're all going to have a Wizard's Chess tournament in the common room tonight, if you want to join. It'll be better with an even number."

"Oh, yeah? What's the prize? Can you pass me that jug?" Harry leans down the table for the jug and hands it to Hermione, who unscrews the top of her bottle and fills it with the pumpkin juice.

"Yeah, the prize is 15 galleons, a pack of Bertie Botts, and a chocolate frog." He grins, taking a long, slow sip of his tea. He's added so much milk it's nearly white. "That is, if Ron doesn't eat it first."

"Tempting… tempting indeed," she hums as she screws the lid back on, picking her sandwiches up in her free hand. "If this test goes well then I'm in. _If _Ron doesn't eat the chocolate frog first."

"I'll make sure he doesn't," Harry laughs. "Good luck on your test, not that you need it."

"Thanks, Harry." She smiles at him before she weaves her way out of the Hall.

Outside, Malfoy is drawing patterns in the dust on the bricks with his fingertips, and he smiles when he sees her come out. She hands him his sandwiches, to which he says: "Thank you very much, angel."

She cringes slightly. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?"

"I don't like it."

"What about angelcake?" He teases.

"I miss angel cakes." She murmurs, taking a swig of pumpkin juice from her water bottle. He looks at her quizzically as he takes a bite from his one of his sandwiches. "They're these little cakes, pink and white. They're so nice. I wish they had them here."

"I'll make you some."

She laughs, taking a bite of her own. She covers her mouth with her hand. "Oh, I'd love to see that. Draco Malfoy baking. That'll be the day."

He gapes at her. "I'll have you know, Miss Granger, I am an exceptionally good baker."

"Oh yeah? And what proof do you have?"

"I challenge you to a bake-off. Over Christmas. Your parents can judge."

"That's a biased audience; they'll pick me because I'm their daughter and they love me."

"When faced with the beauty that is my baking, they'll have to say that I'm the best."

She pats him condescendingly on the cheek as she begins down the corridor, towards the dungeon entrance. "Keep telling yourself that."

As she daintily eats her sandwich, he scarfs his down as though he doesn't know what food is. "So, if you're angelcake-"

"I'm not angelcake."

"_If you're angelcake_, then what am I?"

"Bane of my existence?"

"Come on, Granger, what's my nickname?"

"You can be…" She pauses, thinking (but mainly just finishing her sandwich) before she pulls his apple from her pocket. His eyes light up as she hands it to him. "You're called Drapple."

"What on earth is _Drapple_?"

"Draco plus apple is Drapple. Since it's obviously your one true love."

He bites off a large chunk of apple, his eyes glittering as he pieces it together. "I see! So you just… smushed both the names together?" She laughs, nodding. "So that means…"

"So what means what?"

He pauses on the stairs, and she turns to look at him. He really was a picture, stood there in his uniform – no robes, but otherwise uniformed – her bag slung across his chest, his Nimbus by his side in one hand, an apple in his other. His face creased as he does some serious addition in his head.

She can't help but smile at the sight of him.

"That _means_ that us, me and you," he waves his hand in the space between them, pointing back and forth. "We're Dramione."

She laughs. "That's seriously what you were thinking about?"

He shrugs, grinning. "Why not?"

"I was talking about you being _in love _with the apples. _We _aren't in love." (_Are we?_) "_We _don't need a special little code name." (_Do we?_)

"It doesn't need to be _love_. That can be our friend name. Our spy name. That's just _us._ It doesn't need to be labelled as anything."

"By giving it a name you're labelling it. You don't need to label friendship."

"I think it's a nice name."

"You can think that all you want, you sap."

He laughs, his head flung back. He jumps the last few steps and lands beside her, holding his arm out. When she doesn't take it, he raises his brows at her, smirking. She rolls her eyes, but takes his arm nonetheless.

As they begin walking down the corridor, he speaks. "I think that's a great word to describe this." (Whatever _this_ is) "Dramione."

"It's not describing anything, it's just our names."

"_Exactly_!" He goes to bite the apple but struggles to reach, so she takes it from his hand, holding it up to his mouth. He smiles, going for a bite, instead kissing her thumb softly. She almost drops his apple. "Isn't that the best way to describe this?" He bites into the apple. "Two separate people who you think wouldn't get alone – who _didn't _get along – who now are… friends. It's perfect."

"Whatever you say," she mumbles, smiling. As they get closer to the entrance of Slytherin dungeon, her thumb begins rubbing along his arm absently, her head leaning against his upper arm slightly.

"Dramione." He whispers, more to himself than to her. "Us. Me and you," he says louder.

"Against the world."

He laughs. "Most definitely."

"In a strange way, I'm glad."

"Oh yeah?"

"One less enemy to worry about." She holds the apple up to him again, hoping that he'll kiss her hand again. He doesn't.

"I never considered you an enemy, Granger. More like a tolerable co-worker."

"That's a lie, you didn't tolerate me one bit."

"I don't even tolerate you now."

"Well that makes me feel better; I don't tolerate you either."

He shakes his head and chuckles to himself. "Merlin, we really were made for each other weren't we?" Her heart almost stops – almost. "Just shows we were always destined to be friends."

_Stop saying friends_, she hisses at him in her head. _You kissed my hand, you said we were made for each other – Jesus, Malfoy_!

"You know what?" She turns the word over in her head once more. "It's kind of grown on me."

"I knew it would."

"Not that I'm going to use it – _ever_."

"It's us."

"You and me."

"Against the world."


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**A/N: Hi all! This is essentially just a filler chapter to bring us up to Christmas, but I hope you enjoy! Thank you all for your reviews, you're so kind and it means so much that people enjoy this story :D Love, CrazyAsACupcake x **

Hermione Granger couldn't seem to stop thinking.

She hadn't stopped thinking for two weeks.

Well, she was normally thinking – she was _always _thinking. But she was normally thinking about multiple different things. This time she was fixated on one topic and she couldn't _stop_.

For two weeks Hermione had thought of Malfoy.

She thought about how he smiles, how his hair falls in front of his eyes and how he (annoyingly) pushes back every time. She thought about how he smelled, his unique scent of French perfume and mint and green apples. They sat at the back of the room in Potions, barely speaking so as not to make Harry suspicious (though he was, anyway), and all she wanted was to lean and smell his robes, as weird as it sounds. It's a smell she wants to drown in.

It's a smell she didn't expect when they learnt about Amortentia. She had leaned in to smell the potion – the smell of what was most attractive to her – and it hit her like a punch to the gut. Or maybe she did expect it, and the complete realness took her off guard. When Slughorn asked her what the potion smelled like to her, she couldn't answer. She mumbled something about fresh cut grass and turned away from the table.

For two weeks she had been sneaking around – well, not _sneaking_ – between lessons with Malfoy, spending hours in the library with him, walking around the grounds when they were certain they weren't going to be seen by Ron or Harry. Of course, he did disappear sometimes, but it didn't seem to bother her as much as it did the first few times. Now she knew that even if she didn't see him one day, she would see him the next.

She thought about secrets, and their consequences.

For two weeks she berated Harry for his continuing suspicions. At breakfast she would sit directly opposite from him so he couldn't glare at the Slytherin table. In the common room when they studied together she would keep him on track of his work. On a weekend she would force him to practice Quidditch or actually do his homework for once. The only time she couldn't control him was in their lessons, when she sat behind him or across the aisle from him, not next to him. She would see him turning, scowling, mumbling to Ron next to him who would grunt in response. In the end she gave up and let him believe his conspiracy theories. She knew Harry; he wouldn't act on them, at least not alone, and Ron didn't seem as interested in Malfoy as he did in trying to break up with Lavender.

Hermione thought he should just rip the plaster off and get it over with. Ron didn't want to be mean. Hermione called him a baby. Ron didn't speak to her for two days.

She thought that relationships – of any kind – shouldn't be so difficult.

The Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff Quidditch match lasted for six hours on the last Sunday of November, but Hermione only stayed for four. She wasn't a huge fan of Quidditch, and she needed to do some serious work for Defence Against the Dark Arts. And, she really needed the toilet. Later, in the common room, Harry lays upside down in one of the plush chairs while she does her work, giving her a giddy play-by-play of the last two hours of the match, resulting in Ravenclaw's win. When her hand started to cramp from all of the writing, he took the quill from her and told her to go to bed.

She thought about how much easier it would be if she loved him, instead.

Not that she would call it _love_ – though she should. She refers to it, in her head, as _infatuation_. _Obsession_. _Relief_.

As Christmas break crept ever closer she began to feel as though she had made a mistake. She knew that her parents, even if they had expressed some concerns, were going to be as nice and polite as possible. That's just how Grangers are. She didn't know what he would think of their house, or her mums cooking, or her movies that she had promised to show him. What he would think of their karaoke-and-board-games Christmas Eve tradition.

She thought about if he was using her.

The night before they got the train back to King's Cross, she cried into her pillow, her heaving breaths muffled by the fabric. She didn't know why she felt as though she was just breaking down into pieces. She felt like she was an idiot, though she couldn't understand why. She finally fell asleep at 4 o'clock, only to wake up an hour later.

She stands, running her fingers through her hair and wincing when they get caught on some tangled strands. She showers, then stares at herself in the mirror. There are large, dark circles around her eyes, and her skin looks pale, making her freckles stand out more. She tries smiling at herself but stops when she realises she looks, as her cousin would say, 'tapped'. She brushes her teeth twice, and gags as she tries brushing her tongue. She congratulates herself for not being sick in the sink.

After about a minute of thinking, she decides that she can't be bothered to dress nicely when she's going to sit on a train for seven hours. A pair of grey jogging bottoms and a long-sleeved shirt is the best she can come up with, with a purple jumper over the top. Instead of ankle socks, she pulls on some fluffy Mickey Mouse bed socks, and stuffs her now-too-thick feet into a pair of pink trainers. She makes her bed, her eyes lingering on Malfoy's jumper.

Normally, it gets folded and placed underneath her mattress. She gets it out and cuddles it when the nights get rough. She hasn't worn it since the day he took her flying. Today she shoves it into her bag.

She had packed a small suitcase the night before, one that she kept in her trunk for 'emergencies' – in case she ever became too overwhelmed and wanted to run back to her parents. In six years she hadn't needed it. Still, she puts it in her trunk anyway, just in case.

She leaves her suitcase on her bed to collect later, and goes to the common room to sit alone, in front of the fire, her hands clasped in front of her, her elbows resting on her legs. She rubs her face with both hands, trying to wake herself up. The common room is too quiet. She doesn't know why she got up so early when she won't be getting on the train until 11 o'clock. Her watch tells her it's 6:08, and she rests against the arm of the sofa. After almost falling asleep, she sits back up.

She stares at the wall, at the portraits. Most of them are still asleep, and she laughs. _Even a painted person has a better nights sleep._

She contemplates going back upstairs, but she doesn't see the point. Ginny will be down at seven, so they can get breakfast together for the last time until January. She pulls her Arithmancy book from her bag and reads through it instead, her head feeling heavy and full.

Today is going to be a long day.

Draco Malfoy couldn't seem to pay attention.

He didn't normally pay attention, but this was a different type of not paying attention. His normal _not paying attention_ consisted of leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, eyes unfocused as he faced the front of the room, the teacher's words going into his ears and swirling around his head, but overall not meaning anything.

For two weeks, instead of his normal _not paying attention_, his attention was on something else – or rather, _someone _else. In most lessons she was sat in front of him, her hair wild as she hunched over her parchment and scribbled in messy shorthand. He would sit there with his cheek resting on his hand, staring at the back of her head. The teacher's were essentially speaking in gibberish. All that was going through his mind were images – snapshots of her laughing or scowling or grinning. He got pulled up for not paying attention more than once.

He thought about her. And he thought about Pansy.

He broke up with Pansy in the week before Christmas. He decided it was best; even though she will always have her own special place in his heart, it wasn't enough. It wasn't what he wanted anymore. Blaise Zabini had stood leaning against the wall, hidden in the shadows, watching as Malfoy had told Pansy that he didn't love her. She took it rather well; she sniffled a little bit, but she just nodded and asked if they could still be friends. _Of course_, he had told her, and she held out her hand for him to shake. She asked him if there was someone else, that she wouldn't get mad or upset if there was. _Of course not_, he had told her, and he had shook her hand.

He could see Blaise over her shoulder, and he watched as his roommate pushed himself off from the wall and went into their dorm. He saw Blaise shaking his head before he shut the door.

The Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff Quidditch match lasted for six hours, and Malfoy stayed the whole time. He leaned forward on the railing, his wrists crossed. He had bet a full box of Bertie Botts on Hufflepuff winning, and he wanted to see the full outcome. He always rooted for the Hufflepuffs (or _Puffles_, as he preferred to call them), and he didn't really know why. He assumes it's because he finds them slightly less annoying then the know-it-alls.

As Christmas break crept closer, Malfoy began to feel as though he'd made a mistake. He knew that the Grangers knew that he had been not so nice to Hermione in the past (fine, he had _bullied _her in the past), and he didn't know why exactly they had agreed to this in the first place. Perhaps they were just happy Hermione had made another friend, regardless of who it is. Perhaps they were going to interrogate and kill him. He knew they were dentists, and that sounded like a word Muggles might use for a contract-killer, or a torturer.

The night before he was supposed to get the train to King's Cross, Malfoy lay staring at the ceiling, his mouth feeling dry as he thought of how badly this could go. He didn't get any sleep at all, eventually pulling himself from the bed at quarter past six to get ready.

He gets dressed in black trousers and a grey dress shirt – might as well make a good first in-person impression. Maybe it would make up for the six years of stories. He makes his bed, then falls back on top of it, for a moment, before getting back up. He slips his feet into a pair of black dress shoes.

Malfoy doesn't own a suitcase, he owns a slightly smaller trunk that has his initials painted on the side, along with the Malfoy family crest. His clothes are folded neatly inside it, a mixture of formal and casual as he doesn't know what the Grangers dressed as, and he didn't want to stick out horribly. He supposes this is something he should've asked Hermione about.

He slips silently into the common room and flops into one of the armchairs, his long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. He leans his head backwards so, once again he is staring at the ceiling. He thinks about his Mother, and what she will be like over Christmas. Her present is arriving today – he asked her if she would be able to send it early, so as to not 'get lost with all of the Christmas traffic'. He didn't tell her the truth, obviously. He didn't want to lose the only family he had left.

At 7 o'clock, the door to the girls dorm opens, and Pansy emerges, yawning. When she sees him sat in the chair, she raises her hand, just a bit, then shoots past him. The entrance to the common room seals itself with a _clunk _behind her, and he sighs, running his hands through his hair and tugging on the ends gently.

_What to do, what to do_?

He heaves himself out of the chair and stretches, his fingers laced together and his arms over his head. His shoulders pop and he groans, letting his arms fall back to his sides, twisting from side to side to try and crack his back, too. It doesn't work, and so he leaves the common room feeling somewhat unsatisfied.

Today is going to be a long day.

Hermione goes down to breakfast at 7:30 because Ginny ended up waking up late ("Who cares, 'Mione, it's a Saturday!"). She ignores how Ron still hasn't broken up with Lavender, as she is once again latched onto his arm making sloppy kissing sounds at him as though he's a dog. She looks to Harry for help as they walk down the last staircase, but he is too caught in his own thoughts to notice her annoyed expression.

She thinks once again how much easier it would be if she could have liked Harry, instead. Or even Ron. But she can't bring herself to look at them as anything other than her brothers. Her family. She doesn't know what she would do if anything happened to either of them, regardless of how annoying they could be at times.

She doesn't want to think about anything happening to them.

But somehow, she can't help it. She assumes it's inevitable. She's heard the whispers around the school, from the Gryffindors and Slytherins, mostly. She was there, in the Department of Mysteries, when Sirius Black was killed. When the Death Eaters attacked. She was there when Voldemort arrived. She has seen Malfoy's Dark Mark with her own eyes, heard his mission from his own mouth.

There is going to be a war in their lifetime.

She can only pray that her boys survive it.

She is snapped out of her thoughts as they enter the Great Hall, hearing that chaotic mixture of laughter, snippets of conversation, shouting across tables. The sound that can only be replicated in a school dining hall. It's a sound that is welcoming, that tells you that no matter what is said, no one is going to be paying attention anyway. It reminds you that everyone around you has their own lives that they're dealing with. They aren't bothered with your problems, they have enough of their own. Most of the time, anyway.

"Are you sure you're not going to stay, 'Mione?" Harry asks as he sits down next to Ginny. Hermione notices he's sat on the side of the table that isn't facing the Slytherins, for once. Instead, she has somehow ended up facing them. She thinks that staring at Goyle's ugly face for all of breakfast will put her off her toast.

"I'm sure, Harry." She pours herself some water and takes a sip. "There's no way I can change it now, even if I wanted to stay."

"Well, we'll all miss you, won't we?" Harry asks the two Weasleys, who respond with either a grunt or an unenthusiastic _yeah_.

"Why aren't you all going to the Burrow this year, anyway?"

Ron answers this one through mouthfuls of cereal. "Mum and dad said that we're old enough to stay for Christmas, now, which is code for '_we've went away for two weeks and don't want to tell you_'," he scoffs, shovelling another spoonful into his mouth. "Don't see how they can go away with everything that's currently going on."

"I'm sure that's nice for them; they never really get much time for themselves." She butters herself some toast, forcing herself to look _at _Harry and not _past _him.

_Don't look for him. Don't be obvious. You'll see him, soon. Don't ruin this. _

"You alright, Hermione?"

Ginny's voice snaps her back. She had been so focused on not looking at the table she had completely zoned out of the conversation. She hadn't eaten her toast, and had, apparently, been staring blankly at Harry for the past minute or so. She clears her throat, placing her toast back on her plate and wiping the crumbs from her fingertips.

"Yeah, sorry. Just got caught in my thoughts," she mumbles, taking another sip of water. When she looks back up, she looks between Harry and Ginny and sees him. He is leaned forward, resting on his elbows, smirking at something Theodore Nott has just said. She takes note of how he's dressed, suddenly feeling like a slob in her jogging bottoms.

"We were just saying it's a shame you're going to miss the Christmas feast."

"I'll be having my own Christmas feast, at home, with my parents. And it will be just as nice as the one here," she pauses, then laughs. "It'll probably be better, because I'll be eating it in my pyjamas."

Ginny laughs too, slathering jam onto a slice of toast. The jam drips from the knife onto the table. "You know what? I might come into the Hall in my pyjamas. It's not like there's any rules against it."

Harry shakes his head, smiling. "Just because there's no rules doesn't mean you can do it."

Hermione raises her brows at him, smirking. "Bit hypocritical there aren't you, Harry?"

Harry laughs, and flicks a large blob of jam at her. It lands just before it hits her plate.

"You got your finger all sticky for nothing," she laughs, then pretends to gag as Harry sticks his jam-coated finger into his mouth. "Harry!"

"It's just my finger, 'Mione."

"Don't suck on your finger at the table!"

Ginny elbows Harry and he pulls his finger from his mouth. "Stop winding her up."

Harry smirks. "Alright mum."

In response to Harry's quip, Ron makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds kind of like an _eurlgh_. The noise catches Ginny off guard and causes her to splutter while taking a drink of her water, which makes Harry laugh. Water drips from the end of Ginny's nose, and she coughs.

Harry only laughs louder as she begins repeating over and over: "My nose burns!" Hermione tries to stifle her own laughter as she searches for a tissue for Ginny to blow her nose with. Seamus holds one out for her from across the table, and she leans over to take it from him. Him and Dean politely pretend that Ginny isn't embarrassing herself, and continue their conversation.

Hermione hands Ginny the tissue, and as Ginny leans forward to blow her nose (while Harry smacks her on the back as she coughs) she makes eye contact with him. Malfoy, along with most students in the vicinity of the four, have turned to witness Ginny choking while Harry laughs. Malfoy smirks, which makes her lose it, and she starts laughing, too. He grins at her, but she forces herself to avert her eyes.

Ginny sits back up, blowing her nose once more and wiping under her eyes. She glares at the two of them. "Really? Laughing at me in my time of need? I could've died"

This is what makes Ron break, and he giggles into his bowl of cereal. "Really, Gin? Your '_time of need_'?"

Then Harry starts, and Hermione quickly follows suit.

"Honestly!" Ginny shouts, throwing her hands in the air. "You're all children!"

"Lighten up, Ginny! It's Christmas!" Hermione reaches over and grabs Ginny's hands, waving them about. "It's the time to eat and be jolly!"

"Fine," Ginny rolls her eyes. "But I'd rather be jolly where we weren't being stared at by half of the school."

The boys, now having regained their composure, look around, and the students who had been watching quickly turn back to their exciting breakfasts. Ron lifts his bowl and slurps the dregs of his milk, then stands from the bench.

"Yeah, we can't waste all morning here," he bends and pinches Hermione's cheeks. "Not when ickle 'Mione-kins is leaving us soon."

"Ronald!" Hermione moans, slapping his hands away from her. "I need to get my things from the common room, anyway."

"Common room it is," Harry is already standing from the bench, and he helps Ginny out too. Both Hermione and Ginny give him a _look_. A _look_ that says _what on earth are you doing_.

They walk down the aisles, avoiding chatting over the other students heads. They pass a fruit bowl and Hermione reaches out and grabs a green apple.

"Why always the green ones?" Harry asks, and she shrugs.

"I don't know. They just taste nicer."

He nods.

"Why?"

"You used to only eat the red ones."

She shrugs, looking at the apple in her hand. "There wasn't any red ones left a few weeks ago, so I just took the green one. And it's nicer."

They walk back to the common room in a little group, giggling together and acting like kids. Because that's what they are.

They're just children.

Hermione thinks about that as she eats her apple, watching Ron puffing his chest out and dancing on the stairs to make Ginny snort. They're growing up too fast.

They're being forced to grow up too fast.

When they reach the common room, she is left with the apple core between her fingers. She twists the stem, counting down the letters of the alphabet. The stem snaps on M, once again. She throws it into the bin in the corner of the common room.

They hang out for an hour, laying across the sofas, Ginny's feet in Ron's lap. Hermione leans her head onto Harry's shoulder and she smiles at her friends. Her family.

She makes a silent wish that nothing will happen to them, when the end comes.

The clock strikes ten and Hermione goes upstairs to get her suitcase, and when she comes down they walk to the Entrance Hall together. One by one they hug her, they wish her a Merry Christmas, they tell her they'll miss her.

"See you in two weeks," Harry mumbles into her hair as he hugs her one more time.

"See you in two weeks," Hermione repeats.

She doesn't know why it feels like there's a weight on her chest. For some reason, she feels as though this is going to be as good as it gets, with these three, for a while. She doesn't know what that means. She hopes that feeling is just nerves of being away from them.

She doesn't get to have her own carriage; some first year Ravenclaws jump in right before the carriage sets off. They aren't really a distraction, and from their lack of chatter she doesn't even think that they're friends, more like they saw that other people they knew would be going to the same place, and decided to go together rather than alone. She sits opposite them, her bag across her lap, her suitcase between her knees. Her leg is bouncing. She ignores it. When she looks behind them, she sees Draco Malfoy sat with Theo, Blaise, and Pansy, laughing. She ignores them

When they get to Hogsmeade station, she lets them climb out first then trails behind them. She feels stupid, pulling along her strawberry-patterned suitcase with it's broken wheel. The Ravenclaws are in awe of the train, and she passes them as she boards. She can hear Pansy's shrill laughter behind her and tries to block it out. She doesn't turn around.

The train is practically empty, and so she finds a compartment easily. She places her suitcase on the seat beside her and stretches, her arms over her head, her feet just touching the seat opposite. The winter sunlight is blinding as it reflects off the snow, and she pulls the curtain halfway across the window to try and block some of it out. In the corridor she sees the four Slytherins walking past, and Malfoy looks in and smirks at her. She smiles back, ever so slightly. When they pass, she stretches again, then curls her legs up underneath her, leaning her head against the window.

Hermione Granger is already asleep when the train lurches out of Hogsmeade station.

Draco Malfoy is sat with his arms crossed, watching his friends bicker about something or other that he hadn't been paying attention to. Pansy is pouting as Blaise tells her she's wrong. Theo is passed out in the corner, curled into a little ball, hugging his jumper to his chest. After about half an hour of watching them argue, he stands and excuses himself, walking back past all the compartments. Some first years practically jump out of his way and he smirks to himself, not sure whether he should be proud of this reputation. He finally finds her compartment, and slips silently inside.

She's asleep, and he chuckles to himself when he sees drool on her cheek. He decides not to wake her and instead falls into a seat near the compartments door. He crosses his legs, his left ankle resting on his knee, then leans back and crosses his arms. He watches the world go by, listens to the various noises of the train, and for the first time in two weeks Draco Malfoy is able to pay attention. He enjoys himself by watching the scenery, pointing things out to himself, playing games (find something blue, find something beginning with the letter 'B'), passing the time until half past 1, when the Trolley witch came around. When the Trolley witch opens the compartment door, Hermione finally stirs, stretching, then stopping when she sees Malfoy sat in the corner.

"Hi," she murmurs, wiping the wetness from her cheek, cringing to herself that he had seen her drooling on herself.

"Hi yourself," he grins, digging a handful of Galleons from his pocket. "Do you want anything?"

She shakes her head no, and he turns to the Trolley witch, who smiles at him.

"Can we have two pumpkin juices and two Cauldron Cakes, please?" The Trolley witch digs around on the trolley, handing him the Cakes. He tosses one to Hermione, and she nearly drops it.

The Trolley witch hands him the two bottles of pumpkin juice. "Would you like ice, dear?"

He looks towards Hermione, who shakes her head no. "No, thank you."

"Is that all?"

From the corner, Hermione mumbles something that sounds like _mocolate bog_.

"Can we have one Chocolate Frog, as well, please?"

As the Trolley witch hands him the Chocolate Frog, he gives her the handful of Galleons, receiving two back and a Sickle in change.

The Trolley witch shuts the door and continues on down the train.

"Catch." He tosses the Chocolate Frog to her – this one she doesn't drop – and opens his bottle of pumpkin juice, taking a long swig.

"How long have you been here?"

"About two hours. You're very peaceful when you're asleep."

She sneers at him, and he sneers back before laughing.

"I hate train rides." She fiddles with the packaging on the Chocolate Frog box, opening it slowly to grab the frog. One thing she was never able to get used to was the fact that the chocolate moved. She always felt bad eating them.

"Why?"

"There's another five hours to go before we get there. It's just rather boring." She looks at the card inside and sighs. Another Albus Dumbledore.

"So go back to sleep." He opens his Cauldron Cake, practically moaning after he bites into it. "These are my favourites."

"I'm not going back to sleep now that I know you're here!"

"Why not?"

"I don't want you staring at me while I'm sleeping, it's weird." The Chocolate Frog was starting to melt in her grip, but she couldn't bring herself to eat it as she felt it writhing in her hand. She always regretted getting them, but she always seemed to forget.

"Fine, don't sleep then," he shrugs, finishing his cauldron cake and wiping the crumbs from his fingers. He finally notices her lazy outfit. "Nice trousers, Granger."

Her cheeks heat up. "Bog off, Malfoy."

He shuffles across so that he's sat opposite her, holding out the second bottle of pumpkin juice, which she takes with the hand that is currently not covered in chocolate.

"Snap it in half."

"What?"

"If you snap it in half it stops moving. I hate biting into them when they're moving."

She loosens her grip slightly, and before the frog can escape, she snaps its head off. It still makes her feel queasy when it goes limp in her hand. She eats it nonetheless.

"I can't believe you didn't know to do that."

"I just normally wait until they get tired, or they melt."

"Well, now your hand is covered in half of it."

She rolls her eyes, and pulls her bag towards her with her free hand, rooting through it for a tissue. Malfoy sees a flash of green and smirks (why is he smirking so much today?).

"I knew you'd been sleeping in my jumper, Granger."

"I haven't, I sleep _with _it!" She snaps as she feels her cheeks growing warmer.

"_Ooh_, kinky!"

"_Malfoy_!"

"Relax, Granger, you know I'm only teasing." He yawns, putting his hands behind his head as he leans back in the seat. She finally finds a clean tissue and wipes her hand as best as she can. In the end she pulls her wand from its pocket in her bag, _Scourgify_-ing her hand.

"Aren't you always…" she mumbles, placing her wand back in her bag. When he doesn't immediately quip back at her she frowns and looks up.

Draco Malfoy is fast asleep.

She smiles to herself, shivering as the temperature drops. Outside, the sun is hidden by clouds as snow begins to flutter down past the window. Hermione takes his jumper and balls it up underneath her head. She thinks about seeing her parents, having fish and chips, going to the shop (who would be excited about going on a weekly shop?). She thinks about Malfoy, and how he hopefully finds their traditions charming and funny, and not dull and stupid. She thinks about Malfoy and the childish wonder he had the last time she talked about her favourite Muggle movies, and his new-found love of Polo mints.

She falls asleep thinking of Malfoy.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**A/N: Am I happy with this chapter? No. Am I going to post it anyway? Yes. Why? Because I worked damn hard on it. Thank you all again for your reviews, they really do make my day! I'm so happy you all enjoy my story, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as well :) Love, CrazyAsACupcake x**

Twenty minutes before the Hogwarts Express pulls into King's Cross, Malfoy makes his way back to the Slytherin's compartment. Pansy and Blaise are scowling at each other – clearly they never solved their argument.

Blaise looks up when Malfoy enters. "Where did _you _go?"

"I was tired." Malfoy drops into the seat opposite Nott – who is still asleep. He kicks him lightly, and Nott grumbles angrily at him. "I couldn't sleep while you two were bickering."

"So you disappeared for the entire train ride?"

"I was asleep; did you expect me to sleepwalk back here?"

"You left me alone with _her_." Blaise sneers at Pansy, who throws her hands in the air.

"If you really hate being sat with me that much, you could've gotten up and left!" She snaps, her anger showing on her cheeks.

"Why should _I _have to leave? Why can't _you_?"

"I'm not the one who has a problem!"

Malfoy pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut. They continue shouting at each other until he can't take it anymore. "_What _is the problem?" He shouts, making both of them pause. He doesn't miss the way Pansy's eyes flicker to his arm, the way she swallows.

_She's afraid of you_.

"_Pansy_ is a baby." Blaise glares at her.

"_How _am I a baby? You're just a jerk!" She fires back.

Malfoy frowns, his question no closer to being answered. "What is the argument _about_?"

Blaise opens his mouth, but Pansy gets there first, a fire in her eyes. "It _started _as a joke, but Blaise took it too far, like always!"

"Oh, I took it too far? Did I? You really are a baby!" He fires back.

"I'm not a baby!"

Malfoy accepts he's not going to get a proper answer out of either of them and lets them continue yelling at each other.

When the train pulls into King's Cross, Malfoy makes a silent prayer of thanks to every entity he can think of, as they finally stop screaming. Pansy runs out of the compartment and presses her face against the window, grinning and waving madly when she sees her parents. Malfoy drags his trunk from where it was stowed above his seat, checking to make sure it's shut properly before he picks it up. Theodore Nott finally stirs from his sleep.

"Where's your mother, Draco?" Pansy looks back at him from where she's stood by the window. "Is she not meeting you?"

"I told her not to." He doesn't look at her. "She's not really in the right headspace to be going anywhere, so I told her I'd get to the Manor on my own."

Blaise claps his hand on Malfoy's shoulder. "Tell her Merry Christmas from me."

Malfoy nods, smiling. "I will. And I won't be able to do anything over Christmas, so I won't see you until we go back; I don't want her to be alone."

"You'll owl though, won't you?"

"I don't want to make her think I don't want to be there. Sorry, guys."

Blaise nods solemnly. "I understand. Give her my love."

Nott stretches, then wiggles his brows. "And mine."

Malfoy laughs, almost losing his balance as the train finally stops moving. "I will, Blaise." Nott looks at him in mock offence, but grins soon after.

They get off the train together, and one by one his friends split off to go to their own families. He watches as Pansy and Blaise apologise to each other (after _seven hours_) before parting ways. He watches Nott run to his mother like a first year, practically jumping into her arms; he probably would have done if he wasn't taller than her. He watches as one by one, they go, with their families, through the barrier into the main train station. He watches Hermione run through, alone, and quickly follows.

They pretend that the other one isn't there, and he looks around to see if any of his friends are hanging around the station. When he seems pleased that no one is there, he jogs the couple of paces between them and falls into step beside her.

"What's the frown for?" He asks and she jumps.

"I just can't see them." She bites on her lower lip and looks around. Her face lights up and she begins running, dragging her suitcase with the broken wheel behind her. She hugs a man with thinning brown hair and kind, crinkled brown eyes, then a woman with long hair that is clipped away from her face. They both smile fondly at her, and Malfoy thinks about turning and walking in the other direction. He thinks about going home, to his mother. He thinks about burying his face into his mothers shoulder as she holds him.

The man looks up at him, then, and the chance to leave is gone.

"You must be Draco." The man has a kind voice, but Malfoy can hear the slight edge. The man holds his hand out, and Malfoy shakes it firmly, smiling a smile he hopes covers the fear in his eyes.

"It's nice to meet you, Mister Granger."

"You can call me Paul, son."

Malfoy freezes. The informality for some reason makes his brain short-circuit. He can't think of a time he's ever addressed an adult by their first name. He can't think of a time he'd been called _son_.

"Most people call me 'Malfoy', sir."

Mister Granger – _Paul _– frowns. "Draco is your first name, isn't it?" Malfoy nods, and the man gives a smile. "So I'll call you that, if that's alright with you."

Malfoy finally lets go of his hand, then turns to the woman. "And it's nice to meet you, too, Mrs Granger."

She takes his hand in both of hers, smiling a friendlier smile than her husbands. "Call me Jean."

Malfoy frowns, looking towards Hermione. "Your middle name…"

"How do you know my middle name?" She laughs and he shrugs.

"I'm not as stupid as you like to think I am."

Hermione's dad picks up her strawberry suitcase and turns towards the exit. "We're parked over at Euston. We'll get home at around seven so we can get a takeout if you want – your choice."

Hermione lights up, following him like a puppy. Malfoy can tell she adores him. "Can we get a Chinese? It's been so long!"

"If that's what you want, then sure." _Paul_ looks over his shoulder towards Malfoy. "You okay with a Chinese?"

"I have nothing against the Chinese…" He's suddenly very concerned about what kind of family he's going to be staying with over the holidays.

Hermione laughs, and his cheeks heat up. "As in Chinese food. For dinner."

"Oh," he pauses. "I've never had it."

"We'll just get you what Hermione normally has, then. She's very fussy." Her dad laughs.

"I am not!" She argues, grinning.

"Did you know she didn't eat anything but beans and potato smiley faces for 5 months when she was a kid?"

"Dad!"

He laughs again, and the group falls into a comfortable (well, mainly comfortable) silence. Euston car park is a ten minute walk from Kings Cross, and Malfoy spends most of it staring at the pavement, counting the cracks and avoiding stepping on them. He hopes his silence isn't making him seem unlikable – he doesn't know how to say that he has nothing to say.

When they reach the car, _Paul_ pops the boot open and places Hermione's suitcase in. He then turns and makes a gesture for Malfoy to give him his trunk, which he does. _Paul_ places the trunk next to her suitcase and closes the boot.

_Jean _and _Paul_ get into the front of the car, and Hermione opens the drivers side passenger door before she notices Malfoy just staring at the car.

"Malfoy," she says, and his head snaps up at her. Her eyes are seem wider than normal in the darkness. "Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be, Granger?" He responds, snapping himself out of whatever trance he was in and reaching for the handle. He slides into the car, thinking to himself that it seems rather small.

"Seatbelt," Hermione murmurs. He doesn't understand, and so she points at the grey strap hanging beside him. He pulls at it, and it becomes longer, much to his amazement. She points at a thing on his other side, and he manages to force the metal buckle into it (after a bit of a struggle). He leans back against the seat. His legs are far too long for this space.

_Paul_ is watching him in the mirror. "Never been in a car before?"

"No, sir." His voice sounds weird. His hands feel cold. He feels sweaty.

_Was this a mistake_?

"You get travel sick on that train?"

Malfoy shakes his head. He doesn't think so. Was this knot in his stomach from nerves or from the journey? He doesn't know.

_This was a mistake_.

_Paul _sets up his TomTom. "We should be back in about 20 minutes. If you feel sick you let me know, I've got bags in the back or I'll pull over. Don't throw up in my car."

"I won't, sir."

"And you can stop with the '_sir_'; I'm not your teacher."

"Sorry."

"You don't need to apologise." _Paul_ meets his eye in the mirror. "It's okay, stop panicking."

Malfoy doesn't know how he knows he's panicking. "I'm okay," his mouth feels dry. "Paul."

Malfoy sees the corners of _Paul's _eyes crinkle in the mirror. "Good. Now, lets get going."

The car peels out of the car park, and _Jean _begins asking Hermione how the year is going. Hermione is, obviously, happy to talk about how brilliantly she is doing in every lesson. Malfoy's leg is bouncing, and he looks out of the window to watch the scenery flash by (as much as it can 'flash' past in the dark). His nails feel like they're biting into the palm of his hand, and so he places his hands on his knees to try and ground himself.

He looks back out of the window, counting the lampposts as they drive past. Something touches his hand and he flinches, before looking down.

Hermione squeezes his hand with her own. She isn't looking at him, she's still talking to her mum, but her thumb traces circles over his skin. He twists his hand around in her grip, squeezing back, and he sees her lips twitch upwards.

"How's school for you, Draco?" _Jean_ is addressing him now, giving him an opening to join the conversation.

"It's… It's good. It's difficult, at times. But still…good." For some reason he's struggling with making proper sentences. Was speaking always this hard?

"I've been helping him with Potions," Hermione pipes up.

"You struggle with Potions, Draco?" _Jean_ turns in her seat to try and look at him – she's sat directly in front of him, so she has to twist herself awkwardly. He can see that her eyes are green, and bright.

"I don't _struggle_. I just…" He doesn't know how to explain that he doesn't go to lessons, sometimes. He doesn't know how to explain that he has bigger things than his lessons, bigger things that include helping a man who wants people like their daughter dead.

"He was sick at the beginning of November. He missed a few lessons so I'm helping him catch up. That's how we became friends, actually." Hermione answers for him. It's a half-truth, but sometimes half-truths are better. Sometimes it's nicer to lie to people than hurt them with the truth.

"Yeah," he nods, agreeing with her. "I got stomach flu a bit after my Quidditch match."

_Jean_ twists herself back, so she's now sat properly again. "Oh, Hermione's told us all about Quidditch! What position are you?"

"I'm a seeker; it's my job to catch the Snitch," he laughs, thinking. "I guess without me the game wouldn't end."

_Jean_ nods, and he can tell she doesn't understand, but that doesn't stop her from being interested. "Are you a good player?"

"Oh, definitely." He feels slightly more comfortable to be talking about something he enjoys. He feels less on the spot. "Some would say I'm the best in the year – in the school even."

"Apart from Harry." Hermione adds.

He regards her from the corner of his eye. "You don't honestly believe Potter is better than me?"

"I think you're both great."

"You have to pick one of us."

"I'm not picking sides."

She grins at him, and he hopes it means that she's joking, that he is actually better than Harry at something. He wants her to like him better than Harry – and he knows that's not possible ("He's like a brother to me," she had said all those weeks ago) – so he at least wants her to think he's better at _something_.

"Don't you think Quidditch sounds so interesting, Paul?" _Jean_ is ignoring them, now. "Sometimes I wish that we'd be able to go and see it."

"It's so _boring_," Hermione groans. "You're honestly not missing anything."

"It's not boring at all, Mrs Granger." Malfoy looks at Hermione and she looks back at him, and for a second, they just look. For a second, he forgets what he was going to say. For a second, he studies her face and memorises it. For a second, she is all he can see. His face cracks into a smile, at her, for her, and she smiles back.

"It's the most boring thing ever." Her voice is soft, barely more than a whisper.

"It's incredible. You feel totally free, and when the Snitch appears and you dive for it -" He pauses, thinking of the moment his hand wrapped around the golden ball. "It makes you feel alive."

"You only feel like that because you play it. To watch it is tiresome, and it can take forever." She looks away from him, to her mum in the passenger seat. "The Ravenclaw game lasted _six hours_."

"You didn't even stay for the whole thing."

"It's boring!"

Her mum laughs, then, and catches them both off guard. "Paul, don't they sound like us?"

Malfoy's eyes widen as _Paul_ chuckles, indicating to go down a street on their right. "Just accept that you're going to be going to Quidditch games alone, lad. Believe me, we had this exact argument about football."

"At least with football you know it's only going to be about an hour and a half," Hermione argues. "Quidditch can last for _days _if they don't catch the Snitch."

"And we don't go to the matches together, she goes with Wea- with Ginny Weasley." He doesn't want them to think they're a couple. He doesn't want them to hate him even more later on. It'll hurt the three of them less if she loses a friend, not a boyfriend.

"And he goes with his girlfriend."

_Paul_ raises his eyebrow, looking at Malfoy through the mirror. "You've got a girlfriend?"

"No, I don't." He shakes his head quickly. "We broke up; I broke up with her." He doesn't know why he has to clarify that he's the one that did the breaking up.

Hermione is staring at him. "You broke up with Pansy?"

"I thought I'd told you?"

"Apparently not."

The car pulls into the paved driveway of a two-story detached house, painted an off-white colour. There's a light on in the front room, the curtains are drawn. _Paul_ gets out of the car to get their suitcases out of the boot, with _Jean_ following to talk to him. Malfoy sits and stares at the house, thinking. It looks so much more inviting than the Manor. He wonders what the inside is like, if this is what he feels like just looking at the exterior.

Hermione squeezes his hand, and he turns to her. She's staring at him again.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd broken up with Pansy?"

He shrugs. "I thought I had."

"Well, you didn't."

"And I'm sorry."

She nods, biting her lip. "When did you break up with her?"

"About a week ago." He frowns. "Why?"

She shakes her head. "No reason." She drops his hand and climbs out of the car.

He follows – or tries to; he can't figure out how to open the door. _Jean_ sees him struggling and comes to his rescue, smiling at him as she holds the door open for him.

"Thank you," he says softly, climbing out. His left leg has fallen asleep, and so he shakes it out as _Paul_ hands him his trunk. "Thank you."

"He's very polite, isn't he?" _Paul_ quips to Hermione, and she giggles.

"I wouldn't know; he's never like that with me." She smirks at Malfoy as he glares at her.

"I am always polite to you," he retorts.

She laughs. "And you're proving your point exceptionally well."

He rolls his eyes and she just smiles wider.

_Paul_ unlocks the front door and they all follow him inside, kicking their shoes off in the entrance hall. Malfoy lets his eyes roam across the walls, at the seemingly hundreds of pictures of Hermione in her childhood, as well as pictures of _Paul _and _Jean _together. He stares at one picture to his right; a young, wild-haired, buck-toothed Hermione wears a black hat with two circular ears in front of a castle. She's grinning like anything, a bucket full of popcorn dangling from one of her hands.

"Disney World, 1987." He jumps at the sound of her voice beside him. She's looking fondly at the picture, something twinkling behind her eyes. "I'd give anything to go back."

"To a castle?" He frowns, looking back at the picture. "You live in one."

"It's not just a castle." She smiles, but something about it is sad.

He doesn't understand, but it doesn't matter. He tells himself that if they have the chance when everything is over, he'll take her there.

_Paul_ starts up the stairs, beckoning for Malfoy to follow, which he does. The stairs are carpeted – something Malfoy thinks is weird. All of the stairs in the Manor are polished wood.

When they get to the landing, _Paul_ points to a door directly to the right of the stairs. "That's Hermione's room – you don't go in there."

Malfoy nods, swallowing. _Paul_ seems nice enough, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't hurt Malfoy if he wanted to.

_Paul _points at the door opposite the stairs. "That's the bathroom, and," he opens the door beside it. "_This_ is your room." Malfoy peers around the door jamb, taking his first look at the guest room of the Granger's home.

The room has light grey walls, with thick grey curtains open at the window. There is a white chest of drawers in the corner, a full-body mirror on the wall directly beside the door, a floor lamp with a white lampshade beside the bed. The bed is a double bed, pushed up so it's against the wall with the door – if anyone opened the door during the night, he would just be able to see them stood in the hallway.

He shuffles in, dropping his trunk on top of the duvet. _Jean _watches him from the doorway, wringing her hands.

"They're the only green sheets we had," she explains, watching his face. "I hope that's okay."

He hadn't even acknowledged the colour of the bedsheets. They're a pretty pastel green, with tiny white flowers. He smiles, thinking about they had went to the effort to put green sheets on the bed just for him, though they didn't need to. He doesn't _just _like green.

"It's perfect. All of it." _You sound like an idiot_. "Thank you."

She smiles, then turns to _Paul_. "I think it's time for tea, don't you?" She goes downstairs, and _Paul_ goes to follow her before Hermione scowls.

"I can't believe _you _get a double bed." She whines, staring at the bed with envy.

Her dad laughs. "When you can afford a new bed, you can have a new bed." He starts down the stairs, then turns. "You want…?"

"Chicken curry and rice, please."

He laughs again. "I said you were fussy."

"I am not!" She immediately protests. Malfoy watches the exchange with a tiny smile. He wishes his father would act like this with him.

"Pick something different then."

She opens her mouth, closes it, then scowls.

"That sound good to you, Draco?" _Paul _turns to him, and it takes a moment for Malfoy to realise he's the one being asked.

"That sounds great, thank you." He wonders if he's _too _polite.

_Paul _nods, smiles, then turns to Hermione. "You don't go in this room."

"I won't." She shakes her head quickly, and _Paul_ nods once before going downstairs. She watches Malfoy from the doorway, leaning against the jamb with her arms crossed.

"What?" He frowns.

"Nothing. You just seem…off."

"I'm not _off_." He snaps the clasps of his trunk open, staring at the contents and wondering whether he should unpack or not. He decides he should, taking the neatly folded clothes out and placing them in the drawers beside the bed.

She's still watching him.

"What's wrong?" She asks from the doorway.

"Nothing."

"Something is."

"Granger," he sighs, turning to face her. "Nothing is wrong. I'm fine. It's all fine."

"You're sure?"

"I'm positive." He takes his pyjamas (green – maybe he does only like the colour green) and drops them on the pillow, then slides his trunk underneath the bed. "Okay?"

She smiles at him. "Okay." She starts down the stairs without making sure he was following her. She knew that he would be.

In their front room, there is a television set (Malfoy doesn't know what one of those is), a navy-blue leather settee and two matching armchairs. There's a low wooden coffee table covered in rings of water stains. An empty pink mug sits on the table. The carpet is blue, the walls are yellow. There's a bay window facing the front garden, with several potted plants and random ornaments decorating the windowsill. There's a wooden mantelpiece, with a mirror hanging above it. The mirror looks terribly out of place in the rest of the room.

He stands there awkwardly. He doesn't know if he's allowed to sit, or if everyone has a specific seat. Hermione is scanning through a pile of boxes underneath the television set, and she pulls one of them out.

"This is the one with the song we were listening to." She gestures for him to take a seat, and so he does, falling onto one end of the sofa. "We can watch it now or later."

_Paul_ comes in from the next room over, sorting his coat out. "We're going for the Chinese now. We'll be probably half an hour."

Hermione nods, popping open the box she's holding. "Can you get me a fortune cookie?"

"If I don't forget."

She smiles at him, before slotting a thick, black rectangle into a machine. She turns the television on, and the screen comes to life, the title of the movie floating on in a cloud of bubbles. _Paul _groans.

"You're not watching this rubbish, are you?"

Malfoy looks at him over the back of the sofa. "It's rubbish?"

"Malfoy's never seen it," Hermione explains, pressing the play button on the machine.

"_Ah_," _Paul_ nods. "She's only making you watch it because it's her favourite movie. You're allowed to say no."

"I don't mind," Malfoy smiles at Hermione, and she looks away from him, her cheeks heating up. _Jean _comes in, pulling her coat on. _Paul_ smiles at her.

"Anyway, we're going." _Paul _opens the front door. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Don't worry, we won't," Hermione mumbles. She doesn't turn to say bye. Malfoy does, giving a slight wave before they shut the door.

She moves to the sofa and drops into the seat on the other side, her feet curled under her.

For a moment, he watches her. The way she tucks her hair behind her ears, the way she leans her cheek on her hand, the way her eyes sparkle as she watches the mermaids swim about on the screen. The way she smirks when she knows he's watching her.

He turns to the television.

"I always fancied him," Hermione murmurs when Prince Eric comes on screen for the first time. Malfoy feels a pang of jealousy towards the cartoon. "I think it's cause he's a prince."

"Why would you like someone just because they're a prince?" He asks, watching the way Ariel watches Eric.

"Because they're supposed to save you."


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**A/N: Shorter chapter today, just because I want to get the first night at the Grangers out of the way so that I can get onto the main reason he joined her for Christmas :D I hope you enjoy this chapter, regardless of it's length. Love, CrazyAsACupcake x **

By the time _Paul _and _Jean _came back with their dinner, Malfoy was completely immersed in the movie. He still didn't really understand the obsession with Prince Eric, and he didn't understand why she so desperately wanted to leave everything she knew for him. When _Paul_ slammed the door shut behind him, Hermione groaned into the pillow she was hugging to her chest. "You've ruined my concentration now!"

"Well you need to pause it anyway; I'm not going to let this go cold." He ruffled her hair with his free hand before going into the next room – which Malfoy could now assume was their kitchen.

Hermione groans again, pressing a button on the remote next to her, stopping the cartoons from moving. Malfoy frowns at the screen, at the red crab grinning at him as he sang about life under the sea.

"That's… that's not it, is it?" He asks, looking over to Hermione as she stretches her legs.

"What?" She looks from him to the screen, then smiles. "Oh, no. We can finish it after we've had dinner. There's still another hour left."

"So why did it stop?"

"Because I stopped it."

"You can do that?"

"Sure." She taps her fingernails against the remote. "Muggle technology is something special."

He regards the television once again, at the way the crab seemed to flicker on the screen. He supposes it is.

"Come along, chicks," _Paul _calls as he comes in, drying his hands with a tea towel. "Don't leave it paused while we eat, Hermione. You'll burn the image onto the screen and we'll be stuck with Sebastian staring at us forever."

Hermione rolls her eyes, sliding off the sofa and landing on her knees on the floor. She shuffles over to the television and turns it off, the crab vanishing as the screen (for lack of a better word) _blips_ into black.

Malfoy lets out an annoyed noise – something that sounds like '_eyyeh_!' as he gestures at the screen.

She laughs. "Don't worry. When it turns back on it'll be right where we left it." She pushes herself to her feet and pads to the kitchen. "Come along, chick."

He follows her, like a puppy.

In the kitchen, _Paul_ points Malfoy to a seat at a round, four-person, wooden dining table, and he sits without a word. He doesn't want to accidentally offend them, so he sits in silence, watching as _Jean _and _Paul_ work around each other as they plate the food up, picking at the skin around his nails underneath the table. Hermione drops rather ungracefully into the seat next to him, her hair bouncing madly around her.

He thinks it's strange that she has such wild hair when her parents don't.

She turns in her seat, watching her dad pouring everyone a glass of Coke (Diet, of course (Dentists are allowed to have _some_ fun, you know)). "You don't understand how much I've looked forward to this, dad."

"You only had one in September," _Paul_ laughs, handing her a glass, which she takes with an extra-wide grin.

"Which was three months ago. Three months is a lifetime." She takes a sip, practically moaning at the drink. "And I've missed this too!"

"You know the rule."

"Only two glasses."

"That's right." He laughs, handing Malfoy his own glass. Malfoy takes it with a small smile, then places it onto the table in front of him.

Malfoy doesn't know how to describe the kitchen; the only word he can think of is _chaotic_, but that's not entirely correct. It's more chaotic than what he is used to – with the loud chattering of the three of them trying to speak over each other, all of them having so much to talk about, all of them worried they won't be able to say everything before they say goodbye again. There are no placemats, no coasters, and Malfoy worries about getting water stains on the table, even though from the countless others decorating the top it's not really a problem.

He can tell just from looking at the table that the Grangers are a world apart from his family.

For one, his mother would never allow a table to have so many water stains. There are other stains, too – pen doodles, paint splatters, even some dried nail polish. The varnish has been peeled off in some places, either from being picked at or from Sellotape being stuck down and pulled off (he doesn't know why there would be Sellotape on the table (or what that even is), but it's evident there had been), leaving some patches of wood exposed and a shade lighter than the rest.

This is the table of a lived-in house.

This is a table owned by a loving family.

This is not a table you would find in Malfoy Manor.

That is not to say that his parents don't love him. That would be a lie; Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy love their son very much – they would even say more than life itself. But they would not put their love for him over the presentation of the house.

He runs his thumb over a bad pen drawing of a pig – a fat round head with a rounder nose and two triangular ears. He can feel where the pen has carved into the wood; even if the pen was washed off, the image would remain. Hermione watches him watching the pig.

"I did that when I was fifteen," she blurts as _Jean_ places a bowl in front of her. She smiles over her shoulder. "Thank you, mummy."

Malfoy snorts, pretending to cough to cover it. "You drew on the table at fifteen?"

"I was bored."

He rubs his thumb over the pig once more before _Paul_ hands him his own bowl. "Thank you."

_Paul_ takes a seat opposite Malfoy. _Paul_ smiles fondly at the ruined table. "It's just a table, and an old one at that. Our whole lives could probably be told on this table." He points to a splodge of green paint. "This is from two summers ago; me and Hermione were trying to paint cups."

Malfoy frowns. "Don't you clean it?"

"Oh, we do. But by the time paint has dried there's not much you can do, unless you scrub it. We don't really want to take any more of the varnish off, though – and, hey, it gives it character."

Hermione twirls her fork around in her curry (_Paul_ did try and teach Hermione how to use chopsticks, but that – like flying – is something she could never master). "Strangely, they aren't a fan of sterility, despite being dentists."

"Strange," Malfoy agrees, although he is still not sure what a dentist is.

_Jean _finally takes the seat to Malfoy's right, and everyone digs in. Hermione is practically vibrating from excitement on his left, shovelling large forkfuls into her mouth. _Jean _and _Paul_ are much more conservative, cutting delicate bites before eating them. They each savour their meal in their own way. Malfoy prods cautiously at a piece of chicken.

The smell of the dish makes his stomach grumble, although he is still afraid to try it. There's a slight hint of aniseed (and he's proud that he is able to distinguish that ingredient). Before he can chicken (pun intended) out of eating the meal, he quickly skewers a piece and shoves it into his mouth. Surprisingly, it's not horrible – not that he thought it would be – and he tentatively eats more. It's mildly spicy, and seriously moreish. Before he even knows it, his bowl is empty, and he chases the last few pieces of rice with his fork. Only when he's finished does he realise his mouth is hot, and he's faced with another task of trying the bubbling brown liquid in front of him.

Hermione laughs beside him as she puts her fork down in her (also empty) bowl. "Did you enjoy that, Malfoy?"

"It was delicious, thank you." He notices how his voice is scratchier than normal. He clears his throat, hoping to relieve the heat without trying the drink.

"Have a drink." She nods at his glass as she lifts her own. "It's not going to kill you."

He does as she says.

The sweet coolness of the drink shocks him, but he is glad as it soothes his throat. He finishes the glass.

"Better than pumpkin juice, isn't it?"

He wrinkles his nose in response, smiling at her as she watches him. "Pumpkin juice is a delicacy."

"A delicacy that I'll bet is also full of sugar," _Paul_ pipes up across from him.

Malfoy shakes his head. "I used to make it with my mum. For four litres we only used about half a cup of sugar."

_Paul_ makes a _mhm_ sound in the back of his throat. "It's all good in moderation, of course. But it adds up if you're not too careful, and soon you've got no teeth."

This jars Malfoy; why are they talking about teeth?

Hermione must be able to read his confused expression, and makes a noise of understanding. "Dentists are doctors for your teeth. So my mum and dad make sure that people are taking care of them, and they fix them if they need to."

"Do… Do my teeth need fixing?" Malfoy asks, now worried about his teeth.

_Paul_ shakes his head with a laugh. "Your teeth look healthy and white – and really straight. How often do you brush? Have you ever had braces?"

"I brush my teeth twice a day. I used to do three times but…things got in the way. And I don't know what braces are."

"You've got nice teeth. And I suppose we should thank you for what you did to Hermione's teeth – I'd never seen her so happy until she came home with shrunken front teeth."

The tips of Malfoy's ears turn red. "I'm really sorry for that."

"You did me a favour," Hermione interrupts, picking up her bowl and placing it in the dishwasher. She takes Malfoy's from in front of him. "If you hadn't have hit me, I would've been stuck with braces for at _least _three years, and that doesn't even impact the size."

"I'm still sorry."

"It's nice to know that you know that word."

Malfoy is certain his ears turn redder than they were, if that is at all possible. "I say sorry to you all the time."

She pats him on the head as she walks past him, and he doesn't miss the way her fingers linger in his hair, the way she runs her fingers through it gently. "Come along, Malfoy."

He stands awkwardly from the table: he doesn't push the chair back far enough, and he has to practically climb out. "Thank you very much for the dinner."

"Oh, you're welcome." _Jean_ beams at him, and he follows Hermione out of the kitchen. Behind them, he can hear _Jean_ hissing at _Paul _under her breath.

"_Really, Paul? You had to put him on the spot like that? He's nervous enough._"

He curls back up on his end of the settee, watching Hermione turn the television back on. The crab grins at them once more. She drops next to him and nudges him with her toes.

"You okay?" She asks.

"I'm perfect, Granger," he smiles at her, and she smiles back. She seems like she's a world away from him as she's curled up on the other side of the chair. He wishes she could sit closer to him.

She starts the movie, and her hand lingers on the cushion beside him.

He reaches out and takes her hand in his, their fingers lacing together. He wonders about how their hands fit together perfectly, like she's the missing piece of a jigsaw he couldn't finish until now.

They don't speak. They don't need to.

They finish the movie – all fifty-five minutes – with their hands still connected.


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Additional A/N: This is now my FOURTH time trying to upload this, the last three times something has went wrong so I'm sorry if you got a notification and the chapter wasn't there :( Hopefully third time's the charm... Love CrazyAsACupcake**

**Main A/N: Oh, boy! That took a While, haha! Long story short, I ended up having to do a lot more research than I thought I needed to - and I still didn't end up writing that much. I was so desperate for Sunday to be the 23rd, but sadly it wasn't meant to be, since in 1996 the 23rd was the Monday, so I needed to write a whole extra day I wasn't planned for D: This is essentially a filler chapter to get to the day I actually wanted to do - but the good news is I know quite a bit about PS1s now... haha! I'm really sorry this took so long (like bloody always!) but I, as always, am so, so grateful for each and every one of you for continuing to read and support my little story. As always, your reviews make my day, it's so nice to know there's people out there who appreciate what you do (even if it does take you three weeks to give them what they want (I'm sorry!)). Thank you all so, so, SO much! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Love, CrazyAsACupcake**

On Sunday, December 22nd, Hermione doesn't wake up until half past twelve. She wakes up with her hair stuck to her face, saliva dribbling from her mouth, and her duvet cover on the floor. She rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands then stretches, groaning when her joints pop. She leaves her room like a zombie, stumbling out onto the landing and nearly falling down the stairs as she latches on to the bannister.

She stops halfway down the stairs, listening. There are voices downstairs – three voices. Her mum's soothing voice is the first one she recognises, though she can't make out the muffled words. Her dad's thick Northern accent is next – yes, she's part Northerner, not a part she's much proud of – and the third voice is…

The third voice is calm and warm and inviting. The third voice is deep, but not too deep – just the right pitch to make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. The third voice is posher, classier, cleverer, funnier, _everything-_er than her parents (no offence to them).

The third voice, she remembers, is Draco Malfoy.

Her sleepy haze evaporates faster than one can say _rictosempra_. She stands still on the stairs, feeling the carpet beneath her toes. She remembers she went to sleep in shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, then remembers that he's seen her in shorts before. She remembers that her hair was sticking to her face and her chin is probably still wet from the drool.

Before she can run away back to her room, her mum steps through the living room doorway, laughing. She sees her, and smiles.

"We were beginning to wonder when you'd show up!" She waves Hermione down, and Hermione reluctantly follows.

_Paul_ is sitting in the settee, one arm across the back, his left ankle resting on top of his right knee. _Paul_ is still in his pyjamas – fluffy black and white checked pants and an old t-shirt. Malfoy sits in the chair to his left, sitting forwards, fully dressed in a white shirt tucked into his black dress pants.

"Good afternoon, sunshine." He's far too cheery for her, smirking at her as she stands awkwardly in the doorway. He leans forward to get his cup of tea from the coffee table, and she forces herself not to look at how his shirt pulls taut against his stomach.

"Why are you dressed?" She asks, pushing the wild curls back out of her face. In her mind she hopes she looks like a movie star, the move flawless and making her irresistible. In reality she looks like she's drowning under her hair – like Rapunzel, but slightly worse.

He raises his brow at her. "No one told me we _weren't _getting dressed."

"Then go put your pyjamas back on."

"I've already got these on now; no need for them to go to waste."

_Paul_ looks over the back of the settee and grins at her. "Afternoon, love. Draco was just telling us all about Quidditch."

Hermione rolls her eyes, sneering at Malfoy over her dad's head. "Of course he was, he doesn't talk about anything else."

_Paul_ laughs, turning back to Malfoy. "She's like this with football too, lad – don't take it personally."

As Malfoy asks "_football?_", Hermione's nose twitches. She can smell… something. Something juicy and delicious, beckoning her into the kitchen. She follows it quickly, ignoring the hot feeling of Malfoy's eyes on her bare legs (they weren't; he was too busy listening to her dad explain football), only to be greeted to an empty kitchen. She frowns sadly, then notices the breadcrumbs on the counter, the butter that hasn't been put back in the fridge, and how the grill is still slightly warm, and she feels her blood become just a bit hotter.

She stomps back into the front room, glaring at her dad and Malfoy (who is still nursing his mug of tea). "You had bacon sandwiches without me?"

"You were asleep, I wasn't going to let it go cold," _Paul_ counters, completely unbothered.

"There's this thing either of you could've done called _waking me up_."

"I'm not allowed in there," Malfoy points out.

"He's not allowed in there," _Paul _says, at the same time. He nods at Malfoy. "Good lad, knows the rules."

Hermione can see the tips of his ears turning pink beneath his white blond hair. "That doesn't stop _you_."

"You know how the grill works, and the toaster."

"I can't believe you made _him_ one, and not _me_ – your _only daughter_." She retreats back into the kitchen, putting her own bacon on the grill. "And just because I'm making my own, I'll have four slices! Not three!"

_Paul _laughs, shaking his head as Malfoy finishes the dregs of his tea and places the mug back onto the coffee table. He stands, wiping the palms of his hands on his trousers. "I should probably…" He points lamely at the kitchen; he doesn't know what he should _probably_ do, or why he feels the need to explain himself.

_Paul_ laughs again. "She doesn't mean any of it, she's not really mad."

Malfoy picks his mug up again. "I know." He twists it in his hands, reading what it says – it's a drawing of the castle from the picture, with a glittery arch over it, and the words _World's Best Mom_ underneath, which makes him smirk.

_Paul_ holds his mug out towards him. "If you're getting another, please."

He takes it with a smile. "Milk? And sugar."

_Paul_ pulls a face. "Just a splash. And no sugar, thanks."

Malfoy nods, going into the kitchen. He looks at _Paul's_ mug, with an image of a black helmet, and huffily wonders why he couldn't have had that cup.

Hermione is sat up on the countertop, her legs dangling against the cupboard doors. Her fingers drum against the counter as she watches him. "Alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" His nose wrinkles, and she smiles.

"You're looking a bit pink, is all."

He shakes his head, the corners of his lips lifted. He holds the mugs up. "Tea?"

"Kettle's there." She points towards the kettle, jumping down from the counter to check on her bacon in the grill. When she sees they're still a bit pale, she leans against the counter with her arms folded, watching him.

He stares at the kettle for a moment, his brow creased. After a minute, he looks to Hermione in confusion. "Can you…?"

"Here," she laughs as she picks the kettle up, filling it with the water from the tap. She places it back where it was. "Then you press this little button," the kettle lights up and starts making a noise. "Then you wait. Don't touch the water when it comes out."

"I know not to touch boiling water." He sneers at her, and she grins. He stands next to her with his hands behind him against the countertop.

"So…" Her voice trails off. She doesn't know what to say, all of a sudden, in the silence. It's odd – she normally always knows what to say to him. "Did you enjoy my movie?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah. I thought it was very interesting. Bit dark, for kids. I mean they did…they did literally impale the octopus woman."

"Ursula. It's alright because she was the villain. She deserved it." She checks her bacon again, flipping it over then putting it back under the grill.

"And that Eric, I don't think he was enough for her to throw away her whole life for." The kettle pops behind him, which he takes as an indication that it's done.

"Teabags in that box, one per cup," she points at a box to his left. "What do you think would have been enough, for her to get rid of everything she knew for?"

He drops a teabag in each cup. He doesn't know what the teabags are for – remember he's only had it out of the teapot at school – but he hopes Hermione will tell him what to do. "Well, I think the main thing would be replacing Eric with me. He's nothing special, but I know that most girls would forget everything they know for me."

"Has anyone ever told you how humble you are, Malfoy?" She checks again, and her bacon is _finally _done. She turns the grill off and drops some bread in the toaster, getting the milk from the fridge for him.

He makes his own quite milky – he can't stand it when it's too strong. "I know, Granger. I'm a saint, aren't I?"

"Don't put too much in my dad's." She's watching him while she waits for the toast to be done. "Just a splash."

"I know, I know. I'm not stupid." He puts a splash in, pulls a face at Hermione, then screws the top back on the milk.

"Now take the teabags out and put them in the bin."

He frowns. Maybe he should take back that statement. "With… With my fingers?"

She hands him a tiny silver spoon. "Teaspoon. It's in the name."

He stirs the tea with the teaspoon, fishing out the teabags and dropping them into the bin in the corner. Hermione's toast pops and she starts buttering it, lost in thought for a second.

"What would it take for you to give up everything, Malfoy?" She asks after a moment, arranging her bacon on one slice. He frowns at her, taking a sip out of his cup.

"I'm not sure, Granger. Maybe a gorgeous mermaid will have to come and sweep me off my feet."

"When I was younger, I'd always play at being their daughter. I can't remember what I named myself, but I'd pretend that I couldn't go near the water, or I'd turn into a mermaid." She cuts the sandwich in half and takes a bite. For some reason, he feels the need to make a note of the fact that she eats from the slice to the crust, not from the crust to the slice – a rather strange thing to be observant of.

He snatches the other half off her plate and takes a bite, before dropping it back. She gawps at him, and he smiles sweetly back at her.

"You've had your bloody own!" She hisses, yanking the plate closer towards her.

"Sharing is caring, Granger."

"Stop stealing my food for once!"

"You've never complained before."

She glowers at him. "I don't want that half anymore, it's got your spit on it."

"Grow up, Granger. I don't have cooties." With one final smirk, he goes back into the living room to give _Paul _his tea.

Hermione chews through her sandwich in a thoughtful silence, wiping the crumbs from her fingers when she's finished and cleaning the plate. When she goes back into the room, Malfoy is sat back in his chair in front of the window, more relaxed than he was before. Once again, she tries not to look at his shirt trying to pull itself from his trousers.

"What's happening today?" She asks her dad. He's resting the mug on the arm of the settee, and Malfoy is watching it with wide eyes in case it falls.

"Lazy day, I think. Your mum's doing chicken for tea," _Paul _replies, moving his cup onto his knee.

"Can I get the PlayStation out?"

"Do what you want, I'm not going to stop you."

She grins, then runs up the stairs to get it from her room, slipping on a step in the middle and having to stumble up the rest of them. Her mum is putting away some towels in the airing cupboard, and Hermione rolls her eyes.

"It can wait for a day, mum! It's Sunday!"

"It can't wait because we're at work tomorrow and Tuesday and I don't want things to pile up." _Jean_ smooths out the towel on the top of the stack, nods, then closes the door. "And I'm done now."

"Where's the PlayStation?" Hermione leans against the wall with her left shoulder, watching her mum.

_Jean _wrinkles her nose. "You're getting _that _out?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's annoying."

"Well _I _enjoy it, and that's all that matters."

_Jean _shakes her head with a sigh. "It's in the wardrobe – second door, third drawer down. The games should be there too."

Hermione practically squeals, hugging her mum before running to her parent's room. She pokes her head around the door. "Thank you, mammy."

"_Mummy_," _Jean _corrects, smiling as her daughters grinning face and wild hair disappear behind the door once more.

Hermione pulls the console out of the drawer, along with the two controllers, and the handful of games she had been able to save up for when she was out of school on her holidays: _Crash Bandicoot, Mortal Kombat II, Resident Evil_, _Rayman_, and on the top of the pile – still wrapped in its cellophane – was _Tomb Raider_. Hermione's face lights up with a gasp, and she runs downstairs, careful not to slip with the console in her hands.

_Jean _smiles at her from the seat opposite Malfoy, her legs curled under her, a pair of glasses in her hair. "You found it?"

"_Tomb Raider_!" Hermione gasps, holding up (or trying to) the brand new case.

"We thought it'd be a nice surprise for when you came home," _Paul _says, taking a long drink of his tea. "Every time an advert for it came on, you'd try to '_subtly_' point it out."

"When did you get it?"

"October, when it came out." _Jean _fiddles with her necklace, biting her lip as she looks at the box. "I just hope it's not too… Not too _violent_."

"Jean, she was playing _Resident Evil _all summer; I don't think _Tomb Raider _is going to be _that _bad," _Paul _laughs.

Malfoy watches Hermione with a slight smile. He has no idea what's going on, but that doesn't mean he can't be happy for her.

"Can I set it up?" She asks, practically vibrating.

"Go ahead, we're not doing anything." _Paul _laughs, taking another mouthful of tea. He nods his head in Malfoy's direction, then says to _Jean_: "This one makes a bloody good cuppa, you know."

The tips of Malfoy's ears go red once again.

Hermione kneels in front of the television, connecting the cables with the different coloured ends into the correct ports, tearing the cellophane off her brand-new never-before-played edition of _Tomb Raider_, and placing the disk ever so carefully inside the console. She could hear the disk whir inside as she changed the television channel, the PlayStation logo filling the screen before being quickly replaced by the _Tomb Raider _intro. She sits there transfixed, her left thumb twitching over the D-pad, her right circling the _O _button.

She stares at the screen for a second, then looks at the second controller, laying unplugged next to her. Chewing her lip, she looks over her shoulder at Malfoy, who is watching the screen with vague interest. She's torn between savouring the game she's waited six months for, and letting him join in.

_Paul _decides for her.

"Are you going to let him play with you, then?" He stands from the settee – she can hear him go into the kitchen. She nods, though he's not in the room anymore, then turns to smile at Malfoy.

"Come down here." She pats the floor beside her, and he lets himself slip off the chair and onto the carpet. "The cable won't reach over there. It's probably bad for your eyes to be so close but it's not for too long."

He nods, pushing his hair back from his face and scrutinising every aspect of the screen as she plugs the second controller in.

Hermione flips the _Tomb Raider _box around, her nose scrunching as she reads through the back, nodding to herself as she goes. She turns the console off, removing the disk and placing it lovingly back into its place. In a way, she's kind of glad that it's a single-player game, as bad as that sounds.

"Here," she says, handing him the controller.

"Thanks," he replies, holding it awkwardly. It's rather uncomfortable.

"Hold it like this," she holds hers up so he can see her finger positioning. "So, your index fingers are on these two triggers at the back, so that the handles fit in your palm."

He adjusts his grip, nodding when it – oddly – does actually feel a lot better.

"It'll tell you how to play it, but these buttons," she runs her thumb over the D-pad, "are for making the character move."

He fiddles with the buttons, testing the way they feel when he presses them, as she shuffles through her pile of four games. The only multiplayer game she has is _Mortal Kombat II_, which she normally plays with her dad, but she's sure that he won't mind her playing with someone else for a child.

He'd probably be happier that she's found a friend to play with rather than playing with her dad.

She turns the console back up, the PlayStation screen this time changing into the _Mortal Kombat II_ title. They run through the rules, and Malfoy nods along sagely, though she's certain he's still got absolutely no clue what he's meant to be doing.

"Just mash the buttons," she laughs as he tries to understand the combo moves. "Just press _O_ over and over."

"That's cheating!" Paul shouts from the kitchen, which makes them both laugh.

"No, no, I think I'll be able to do it." Malfoy nods, looking back down at the controller. He smirks at Hermione. "I think I'll be able to _win_."

She scoffs. "You haven't even played it yet, I've been playing for a _year_."

"It's nothing like Quidditch."

"Shut up about Quidditch!"

He snorts as he laughs, which makes Hermione laugh as she makes fun of him. "Just start the damn thing!"

They end up playing for three hours. Malfoy is a bit traumatised at first (she didn't warn him about the Fatalities), but when he _finally _gets to finish off Sub-Zero, he can't help shouting '_yes_!'

They end the game at around half past 4, when _Jean_ tells them dinner is nearly ready. Hermione unplugs everything, slips the _Mortal Kombat II _disk back into its box, then returns it all back to its draw in her parent's room. When she goes back downstairs, Malfoy is already in the kitchen, sat at the dining table, tapping his fingers against the glass of Diet Coke in front of him. He smirks at her as she flops into the seat next to him.

"Just because it's been put away doesn't mean you've won. It's not over yet, Granger."

She laughs, pulling his glass away from him and taking a large mouthful of his drink.

"Oh, Malfoy. I was only getting started."


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**A/N: This is... a long one. Am I proud of it? Meh. I had 21 bullet points written down and this is only 10 of them, so the other 11 will be the next chapter haha :D. I AM proud that it didn't take me a month until my next upload, though. Anyway, here's something probably no one cares about: I went to the Warner Bros Studio Tour on Friday! It was my 15th time going and it was the Celebration of Slytherin which was amazing! I went in my full uniform and I got a picture with every single Draco Malfoy mannequin there, even if it did annoy my family haha. I guess that might be what gave me the drive to actually write something :D. Once again, thank you for your reviews, and your endless love and support. It means so, so much to me 3. I hope you enjoy this chapter of And Malfoy Caught the Snitch :). Love, CrazyAsACupcake x**

When Hermione wakes up on Monday, two days before Christmas, she realises that she still hasn't bought her parents any Christmas presents. She makes a quick mental plan as she grabs the clothes she had set out the night before, quietly slipping into the bathroom for a shower.

There is already condensation on the mirror above the sink, and someone has drawn a small smiley face in it. She doesn't know why she thinks '_someone_' when it's so obviously Malfoy – Her parents have their own en-suite, so there isn't any need for them to use the main bathroom. For some reason, it makes her skin prickle to think about going in the shower that Malfoy has just recently used.

She turns the shower on and locks the door behind her, staring at herself in the mirror as she waits for the shower to heat up. There are huge purple marks under her eyes, though she doesn't know how, when she gets so much sleep each night. There are a few red patches on her cheeks – not like when she blushes, more like in random blotches every so often. She's more freckly than normal, too, which she hates, as it makes her look drastically younger than she is. She's not even sure how she can be freckly in the dead of winter.

She climbs into the bath and stands beneath the showerhead, resting her forehead against the cool tile in front of her, letting the water soak into her thick mane of curls as she hums to herself. Her hair gets lathered with shampoo not once, not twice, _three_ times as she tries to make it feel clean – as she tries to make sure absolutely every possible strand of hair gets at least _some_ shampoo. She then conditions her hair, shaves her legs and underarms, though she doesn't really need to. It's more of a habit than an actual necessity.

After about fifteen minutes, she turns the water off, watching as it drips steadily from the showerhead. She stands there for a moment, feeling the water dribble from the tips of her hair and down her back, before she finally steps out of the bath. She dries herself quickly, avoiding looking at herself in the mirror.

She hates to see her body in the mirror.

She wraps her hair in a second towel, quickly getting dressed in a rather cute, flowy, red dress, paired with black tights. When she's dressed, she lets herself look in the mirror again, and she laughs when she sees the red and the black together. The first thing that pops into her head is: _I look like a witch_! The second thing is: _That's because you are a witch, you idiot_.

She pulls a face at how bad she looks without her hair down. She rubs at the circles under her eyes with her fingertips, groaning to herself. She smiles at herself, then stops quickly (she still looks, as her cousins would say, 'tapped') and undoes the towel around her head, letting her still-damp curls drop down her back. She doesn't bother trying to brush her hair, just tucks it behind her ears as she brushes her teeth, twice.

Once again, she gags when she brushes her tongue.

Once again, she congratulates herself for not being sick in the sink.

She wonders if there will ever be a day where she won't gag when she tries to brush her tongue. She doesn't know why there would need to be.

She drinks a handful of water straight from the tap, gathers up her towels and her pyjamas, and leaves the bathroom. The clothes and towels get dumped into the washing basket on the landing, just next to the airing cupboard.

Malfoy is stood in the hallway, leaning against the door to the guest bedroom.

"Is the wet hair part of a new look, Granger?"

She rolls her eyes with a smirk as she turns to him. His arms are crossed, and today he's wearing black dress pants and a black button-up shirt. The black shirt looks much nicer on him than yesterday's white. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and she can see his bandage, which makes the smirk drop from her face.

"Maybe you should try it, Malfoy. It's quite in fashion in Muggle London, don't you know?"

He pulls a face, his nose scrunching up and his eyebrows pulling together. "I'd rather not, thanks very much."

She laughs, quickly going into her room to grab her bag from where it lays at the foot of her bed. She closes the door behind her and starts down the stairs, not even bothering to check if he's following her. "Have you had breakfast?"

He shakes his head as he pushes off the door and follows her downstairs. Her footsteps are so much lighter than his on the stairs, though she assumes that's because she's a foot shorter, and probably weighs less than him.

She drops her bag next to the settee as she goes through to the kitchen, her eyes darting to the clock above the stove. It's half past ten, which calms her panic. She has enough time for everything that needs to be done.

"What's the plan today then, Granger?" He asks from behind her, resting his elbows on top of the counter. She pulls the butter out of the fridge and sticks four slices of bread in the toaster.

"_We_ are going into London to get my parents a Christmas present."

"You haven't bought your parents Christmas presents yet?"

She scowls at him. "When have I had the time to get them a present?"

He shrugs. "What are you thinking of?"

She leans forward onto the counter, holding her head in her hands. "I don't know. I honestly just don't have a clue."

The toast pops up, which makes Malfoy jump. She laughs as she butters the four slices and hands him his two.

"We need to go into Diagon Alley first," she says through a mouthful of toast.

"Don't speak with your mouth full, Granger," he taunts, taking a bite of his own.

"_Anyway_," she ignores him. "I need to get my money exchanged back to pounds."

"Should I get some of those?"

"Probably."

He drops his head backwards, his throat exposed, and groans in mock disgust. "Muggle money." He pretends to let a shudder run through him. "Disgusting."

She hits him playfully on the shoulder. "You've got Muggle germs now."

"I have not because you're a witch, not a Muggle."

"So you admit it?"

"Admit what?"

"That I'm a witch even though I have Muggle parents," she smirks at him, prodding him in his upper arm.

He frowns. "When did I say you weren't?" When she opens her mouth to respond he holds his hand up. "Actually, you know what? Don't answer that."

"So, you admit it."

"I acknowledge that you are a witch, but I am automatically better than you because I am me."

She laughs. "What on earth does that mean?"

"It means, Miss Granger," he taps her nose, and she blinks. "That I'm the best."

She shakes her head with a smile, brushing the breadcrumbs from her fingertips. "We'll have to agree to disagree on that, Malfoy."

"If you insist, Granger." He finishes his toast and claps his hands. "Right then. Are we off?"

She nods, smoothing the front of her dress and going to a cupboard Malfoy hadn't noticed the other times he'd been in the kitchen. From the secret cupboard, she pulls a thick winter coat, complete with a fur-lined hood. When she puts it on he stares at her for just a second, his eyes narrowed as he takes in the image of her in the dark red coat with the bronze buttons and the fur hood.

"What?"

"Nothing, you just look like a character from a story my mother used to read to me. The princess."

"What story?"

"Oh, I can't remember the details. I just remember the pictures. Some kind of Muggle princess who was saved by a wizard, or something like that."

Hermione's brows raise. "Your mother read you stories about Muggles falling in love with wizards?"

His nose wrinkles. "I never said they fell in love, just that he saved her. I think she died in the end, anyway. Or he did. One or the other."

"Well, thanks, Malfoy, for comparing me to the Muggle princess who dies in your favourite childhood story," she laughs, shaking her head once more.

"I didn't mean it like that." He glares at her, shoving his hands in his pockets.

She wants to pull his hands out and lace their fingers together. She wants to press her lips against the smooth skin on the back of his hand, just before his knuckles.

Instead, she just smiles at him. "Get your coat. It'll be freezing."

She listens as he runs upstairs – two at a time, by the sound of it – and into the guest bedroom. She goes into the living room to wait for him, and when he comes down, his black coat is draped over his arm. He grins at her through the doorway.

"Are we off, then?" He asks, sliding his black dress shoes on in the hallway.

"Yep, I think that's it." She picks up a set of keys from the coffee table, and her bag from where it sits in front of the settee, before going to meet him in the hall.

"Shoes on."

"I am, I am," she mumbles, pulling on a pair of boots. She struggles to get her first foot in, so she has to undo the laces just the tiniest bit.

The front door is already unlocked, and she mutters something to herself when she opens it. Her dad's car is gone from the drive, which is less worrying than the door being unlocked all night. She opens the door so that Malfoy can get out first.

"Thanking you, Miss Granger." He bows his head as he passes her, and she rolls her eyes at him.

She reaches behind the door and turns on the alarm – something Malfoy had failed to notice the other times he's passed it in the hall. When it begins to beep, she slips out of the door, locking it behind her and double checking the handle to make sure it doesn't actually open.

"Where to now?" He asks, shivering with his coat still over his arm.

"Put your coat on." She ignores his question to begin with, waiting until he has pulled his coat on as he dirty looks her. "We're going to get the bus to Kings Cross, then we're going to get the Victoria line to Oxford Circus, then the Bakerloo line to Charing Cross."

"Why are we taking the bus, why not just take one of those car things?"

"I don't have a license." She checks her watch. "The bus is in five minutes." She begins walking out of the cul-de-sac, Malfoy beside her with his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. She regards him from the corner of her eye, and she wonders how he makes everything look so…_perfect_, even just walking with his hands in his pockets.

Suddenly, she remembers something. She pulls a purple purse from her bag, with a large _M _drawn on the side in a black permanent marker, counting through coins and notes as she walks. Every so often she murmurs something to herself, until she finally zips the purse back up and drops it back into her bag.

"We have enough to get us to Diagon Alley, and maybe a tea later on, but that doesn't matter because by then I'll have more money anyway." She stops at the bus shelter, not sitting on the bench as there is already an old lady with a walker sat there, and she is far too awkward to sit next to a stranger – especially someone who might initiate conversation.

"Are we actually going to see the circus?" Malfoy asks, leaning back against the glass of the shelter. "You keep mentioning the circus, and now I really want to go."

"No, we're not going to a circus. Why do you feel the need to lean against everything all the time?"

"Is there a problem with that? I enjoy leaning. Why aren't we going to the circus? You've mentioned it twice now – why would we go to a circus to not _go _to the circus."

"It's not _actually _a circus, that's why," she replies, suddenly aware of the old woman's eyes on them.

"Well, why's it called a circus?" He frowns, now confused.

"I-" She starts, then pauses. "Actually, I'm not too sure on that."

"I think it's stupid."

"Your main shopping district is named diagonally; you don't get to talk."

He makes a _hmmph _noise, crossing his arms over his chest. He squints in the December sun (why is the sun always so bright in December?), watching for the bus to come around the corner.

As he watches for the bus, she watches him – she takes in his perfect straight nose, his cheekbones, his jaw, the way his hair falls in any direction.

"Is that the bus?" He points at the red double decker coming towards them, and she shakes herself out of her thoughts. She leans past him, looking at the number. _91, Trafalgar Square_.

"Yep, that's the one," she replies with a beaming grin.

As the bus approaches, he turns to look at the time table behind her, and the list of stops for the _91_.

"This bus goes to Charing Cross," he points out. "Why not just go there instead of going to Kings Cross?"

"It's quicker to take the tube, really. We took the bus to Charing Cross when I was in first year, and we ended up wasting more time. Plus, the tube is more fun." She explains as she pulls her purple purse back out of her bag, removing a £10 note.

The bus pulls up, the doors opening. The driver gives them a smile, and Hermione waits until the old woman has gotten on first before going up to the driver.

"Where to, love?" He asks, and Malfoy frowns.

"Two to Kings Cross, please," she answers, smiling politely.

He taps something onto his machine, then looks back up. "That'll be £5.60, please, love."

She hands him the money, and he gives her the change and the two tickets, which she then hands to Malfoy.

"Do you know him?" Malfoy asks in a low voice as he follows Hermione up to the top level of the bus. The seats at the front are empty, and so they choose to sit there, where they will be able to see everything perfectly. She rests her feet against the bar in front of them.

"No." she frowns. "Why?"

"He kept calling you '_love_'."

"And?"

"I don't know. I just thought it was odd." He is staring straight ahead as the bus begins moving, and Hermione laughs.

"Draco Malfoy, are you jealous?"

"Why would I be jealous?"

"How should I know? You _seem _jealous." She pokes his cheek playfully.

"I am _not _jealous," he snaps. "I don't have a reason to be jealous; it's not like you're my girlfriend or anything."

"You're _jealous_," she sings, tugging gently on the ends of his hair before pushing it out of his face. "Just admit it, Malfoy. You're jealous that the forty-year-old bus driver called me '_love_'."

He frowns, the space between his eyebrows creasing as he stares straight ahead. "I'm not jealous."

"The more you say it, the less I believe you." She keeps running her fingers through his hair, right down to the nape of his neck, gently pulling the shorter hair there.

He finally turns to look at her, his lips twitching slightly as he struggles to keep looking angry. She grins, removing her hand from his hair. He wants to ask her not to pull away, to continue playing with his hair. He doesn't because that would be weird.

He doesn't want to seem weird.

"I wasn't jealous."

"Whatever you say, Malfoy."

He laughs, shaking his head at her. "If you don't want to believe me, that's your call, Granger."

They spend the rest of the half hour bus journey arguing about whether or not she should believe him, and eventually end giggling, and her leaning her head against his shoulder with a sigh.

He tenses up, his pulse beginning to go just a bit faster. It's strange, that even after the past two months of this…_thing_, she still manages to make his world stop by doing just the smallest of things. He wonders if that will ever stop. He wonders if he wants it to.

She sees Kings Cross coming up, and presses the red button that is attached to the yellow pole behind them. A bell rings out, and a sign that says _Bus Stopping _lights up in yellow just above the stairs they came up. Hermione picks up her bag and goes down the stairs, even as the bus is still moving. Malfoy struggles with this – he nearly slips down the stairs twice, his knuckles turning white as he grips the rail.

When he gets down, the bus is slowing, and Hermione is leaning against the luggage rack just behind the drivers box. She smiles when she sees him stood at the foot of the stairs, and when he stumbles as the bus stops, she laughs.

She thanks the bus driver politely as she gets off, and so Malfoy thanks him too.

Kings Cross station is busier today than it was when they came back from Hogwarts, and he follows Hermione downstairs to the tube station. She goes up to one of the windows and asks for two Zone 1 Day Travelcards, which costs her £27. She is luckily able to scrounge the correct amount of money, leaving her with only £2.40 left over, and she hands Malfoy one of the tickets with a beaming smile.

"Protect that with your life," she tells him, going to one of the gates and placing the paper ticket into a slot. It lets out a beep, spits her ticket back at her, then opens the gate for her to pass through. Malfoy steps forward to follow her, only to walk into the barrier. The people behind him groan, and he feels his cheeks burning; he wants to turn around and hex them.

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologises on his behalf. "He's not from here."

Amidst the groaning, a blonde woman in a tight black skirt and pink blouse comes up beside him. She gently takes his ticket, and shows him how to put it into the machine, and reminds him to take it before he passes through. As he thanks her, Hermione feels herself grow hot and cold at the same time, and she scowls, watching Malfoy watch this woman go down the escalator before them.

"Come on," she says in a huffy voice, standing on the right-hand side of the escalator. "Stand on the right. People walk down the left."

He nods, shifting himself so that he's stood behind her. She can feel his breath on the top of her head, and the hair on the back of her neck stands on end.

When they hit the bottom of the escalators, she reads the signs to find out which way goes towards Oxford Circus, and promptly begins walking in that direction. Malfoy, for once, is the one having to speed walk to keep up.

"So, Diagon Alley first?"

"Sure."

He raises his brows at this, taken aback by how snarky she is being all of a sudden. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Is this about that woman that helped me?"

"No." They've reached the platform, and Hermione squints at the board with the train times, pleased to see that the next train is only in one minute.

"Are you jealous?"

"What?" She spins around to face him. "Absolutely not!" She can hear the train, distant and close at the same time.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!" The train begins to pull into the station, making her hair whip around her. "Why would I be jealous of her?"

"Why would I be jealous of a forty-year-old bus driver?"

"So you _were _jealous!"

"That wasn't my point!"

She moves towards the doors of the train, waiting as the people stream off of it, then quickly jumps through the doors and into the carriage. As Malfoy and twenty other people file in behind her, she remembers why she hates the tube so much – the feeling of being packed in like sardines, with nowhere to go, even if the worst happens.

"It's the third stop. Don't miss it," she tells him, taking a deep breath as the doors shut. "Hold onto something."

The train lurches off before he can grab the handrail above him, and he stumbles. Hermione puts her hand on his chest to help steady him, and beneath her fingertips she can feel his heart thudding faster. He reaches up and grabs the rail.

"Thanks," he murmurs, just barely audible over the whooshing of the train through the tunnel. "What happens if we don't manage to get off?" He asks, looking around at the people squeezed into the tight space.

She thinks for a moment, imagining the tube map in her head (that's one good thing about being incredibly smart). "Then we go to Victoria and get the Northern line to Charing Cross instead. But we won't miss it. I haven't yet, and I'm not going to start now."

He nods, watching the tiny lights attached to the tunnel walls flash by. He's worried in case they get separated. He's worried in case something happens to him. In case something happens to her.

The two stops between Kings Cross and Oxford Circus pass quickly, and when the train moves off from Warren Street, Hermione begins squeezing past people to get to the opposite doors, and Malfoy follows behind her. They get off the train as soon as the doors open, both of them panicking about being left behind on the train and having to travel alone. This makes them both laugh, and he holds his arm out to her ("So that we don't get split up.") and she takes it without question.

The tube from Oxford Circus isn't as bad, and they don't panic as much when they get off at Charing Cross. Malfoy gets stuck at the barrier, but not as badly as he had at Kings Cross, and Hermione buys a 99p map from a stall just outside the exit of the tube station which directs them towards Charing Cross road. The walk takes eight minutes, or it would have if they didn't keep losing track of where they were on the map; instead it takes them fourteen minutes, but it doesn't make them any less giddy than they were getting off the train.

They reach the Leaky Cauldron, and by extension Diagon Alley, at 11:51, which makes Hermione's fingers twitch. She feels like they're running out of time, that they won't get everything done in time.

They walk the cobbled street side by side. On one side is the empty, locked up Ollivanders, on the other is the half-destroyed Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Diagon Alley is almost empty, which is odd considering it's nearly Christmas, and normally it would be bustling with Hogwarts students and their families. Hermione presumes it's because the majority of the wizarding population are too afraid to be in public, especially after the disappearances of Ollivander and Florean Fortescue.

They pass Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which is without a doubt the busiest shop in the Alley. Hermione peers in the doorway to see the twins in matching suits (one bright green and the other bright pink) as they demonstrate some of their products in front of an eager crowd. She smiles, shaking her head as they toss an unsuspecting boy a Nosebleed Nougat.

Gringotts is, surprisingly, empty. The goblins sit and scribble fervently into their books, not looking up as the two of them walk past. Hermione's and Malfoy's shoes clack against the marble floor, the noise echoing around them, wrapping itself around the columns and then shooting back towards them. One of the goblins, towards the end of the row on the right, looks up from his writing just before they reach him. Hermione stands awkwardly in front of his desk, looking up towards him. She fumbles around in her bag until she pulls out a blue coin purse, marked on the side with a _W_, opening it and counting all of the Galleons inside it.

"Please would I be able to exchange this into Muggle pounds? Please," she asks awkwardly, holding the Galleons up in her hand.

The goblin wordlessly holds out his open hand, and she gently drops the coins into it. He counts them quickly, scribbles something down into his book, then disappears. About a minute later, he returns and hands Hermione five £20 notes, a £5 note, and three £1 coins. She finds it strange that they give coins; when you go on holiday you normally have to round to the nearest five, or ten. She thanks him, then stands there awkwardly as she pulls out her purple purse to put the money in.

Malfoy gently nudges her out of the way, taking his own wallet (it's a coin purse, but he's far to _masculine_ to call it that). He sifts through the coins there for a moment, nodding when he's pleased with what he sees.

"Could I exchange some money too, please?" He holds up the coin purse, and the goblin once again holds out his hand, where Malfoy drops a much larger amount of coins than Hermione had. When the goblin returns this time, he hands Malfoy eighteen £50 notes, four £20 notes, one £5 note, and one single pound coin.

Malfoy's eyes widen at the amount, and also at how light it is compared to the Galleon equivalent. He folds the notes up and tucks them neatly into the coin purse, then tucks the coin purse into his coat pocket. He thanks the goblin with a smile, then him and Hermione leave Gringotts, feeling slightly richer than they were before (even though they aren't – it's the equivalent – but they enjoy the feeling of having 'more' money than before, even if that's just in terms of numbers).

They walk back towards the Leaky Cauldron, not walking too fast or too slow. Occasionally one of them will stop to look in a window (normally Malfoy) and the other will stand behind them to remark on the time (normally Hermione). Just before they reach the Leaky Cauldron entrance, Hermione spots a flash of long ginger hair, and her heart drops.

Ginny Weasley stands in the doorway of Flourish and Blotts, sucking on an Edible Dark Mark from her brothers' shop. Her eyes narrow when she sees Hermione turn towards her, and she stalks across the street to confront them.

"Hello, mini Weasley," Malfoy greets with a smile. Ginny glares at him in response.

"You didn't tell them." It's not a question, it's a statement, and her attention is now solely on Hermione, who rubs her face with her hand.

"No." Hermione responds.

"And you're still hanging out with him."

"Yes."

"Unbelievable!" Ginny throws her free hand into the air, her eyes wide in disbelief. "You promised me. You promised you would tell them!"

"It's difficult, Gin."

"Have you even told _him_ what you were meant to?" She points at Malfoy with her Edible Dark Mark. Malfoy can smell the sugar in it, even from where he stands behind Hermione; he's surprised Ginny still has teeth to grind in her anger.

"_No_." Hermione snaps, giving Ginny a look that says _and you better not say anything either you little brat_.

"Do you not remember how the only reason I was okay with _this _was because you were going to tell him _that_?"

"Yes."

"Do you also not remember how you _assured _me that he was going to play nice, and if he didn't you would tell the boys?" Hermione doesn't answer this one. "And he _didn't _play nice, did he? And yet you _still didn't tell them_!"

"Ginny-"

"I would be happier if you'd told him. Like you were going to. But now it just double sucks because – Merlin, Hermione – you're spending more time with him than us!"

Hermione opens her mouth to respond, then closes it with a frown. She's realised something. "I thought you were spending Christmas at Hogwarts?"

Ginny nods, sucking on the end of the Edible Dark Mark. "I am. I've come to see Fred and George for the day. You're lucky Ron's not here."

"How have you managed to get here?"

"I went to Hogsmede and asked if I could use their Floo and they said yeah," she shrugs, holding onto her left bicep as she twirls her lollipop around in her left hand. "It's not that difficult."

"I didn't think you were allowed to leave?"

"Special permission from Dumbledore. I told him I was depressed cause I hadn't seen my favourite brothers, so he wrote me a note."

"You _cannot _have a go at me for not telling Harry and Ron about my friendship with Malfoy, when you lied to Dumbledore's face to come see Fred and George!" Hermione snaps, flinging her hands up in exasperation.

"I never said I lied." Ginny shrugs.

"Look," Hermione drops her voice to a whisper so that Malfoy can't hear her. "I'm planning on… On _telling him_ soon. Maybe. I think."

"I just don't get it, Hermione. You say one thing then do the complete opposite. No wonder Harry and Ron think you're off."

Hermione frowns, taking a step away from Ginny. "What do you mean they think I'm _off_?"

"I don't know, they think you're distancing yourself – which you are."

"Am I not _allowed _to do that?" Hermione snaps, suddenly angry.

"You should just tell them! Is it that big of a deal?"

"I don't see why I need their approval, or their _permission_, for every little thing in _my life_!" Hermione hisses, her hands clenched by her sides. She feels Malfoy wrap his hand around hers.

"Come on, Granger," he murmurs into her ear, eyeing Ginny with distaste.

"And, Ginny, if you tell them _anything_ without my permission then so help me God, I will hex you into next September." Hermione glares at her friend.

"I wasn't going to tell them anything – _at all_," Ginny responds, stunned and annoyed. "I was telling _you _that _you _should, not that I was going to do it _for_ you."

"I'll do it when I get back in January. Just _leave it_," Hermione sighs. All the fight has left her and now she just feels tired. She rubs her face again. "Please, Gin."

Ginny shrugs. "Okay." She holds out her Edible Dark Mark. "Want some?"

Hermione laughs, nods, then takes the lollipop from her. She sucks on it for a second before handing it back. "It's wet!"

"What did you expect! It _has _been in my mouth!" Ginny laughs, sticking the Edible Dark Mark back into her mouth. "See you next year," she says with a wink, turning to go back to her brothers' shop.

"See you next year," Hermione repeats at Ginny's retreating back. Then, she turns to Malfoy, who has stepped back once again, with his hands back in his trouser pockets.

"Shall we?" He asks, nodding towards the Leaky Cauldron.

"We shall."

They walk in silence for a while, until they hit the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron, and Hermione digs through her bag for her 99p map.

"What was she on about?" Malfoy asks as he watches her unfold and examine the map.

"Hm?"

"When she said '_have you told him what you're meant to_'. What's she on about?"

Hermione's cheeks tinge red as she starts walking, still looking at the map. "Oh, that? Nothing. It's nothing, really."

"It didn't seem like nothing. It seemed like a very big _something_."

"She shouldn't be pressuring me to tell you, I'll tell you when – or _if _I want to tell you."

He frowns. "So there is a _something_?"

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose with the hand that's not holding the map. "Yes, but it's not important." She lifts the other side of the map so she's able to read it better.

"If you say so."

"I do. Say so, that is. I do say so."

He laughs, looking at the map over her shoulder. "Where are we going?"

"We're going back to Charing Cross, to go back to Oxford Circus-"

"To not go to the circus," he interrupts.

She ignores him. "To go to _Green Park_, to go to _Knightsbridge_, so we can get to Harrods."

"Let me guess, Green Park isn't actually green, and there isn't really a knight guarding a bridge in Knightsbridge."

"Actually, Green Park is _very _green. It's a nice place for a picnic in the summer. And no, there is no knight."

He shakes his head and she smiles. "What is it with Muggles and place names?"

"Again, your main street is called _diagonally_."

They reach Charing Cross, and Malfoy actually manages to get through the barrier. Hermione shoves the 99p map unceremoniously into her bag. She pauses while looking at the large tube map on the wall, tracing the different coloured lines with the tip of her finger, cursing herself for being an idiot.

This annoys Malfoy – her putting herself down for a simple mistake – and he scolds her. "Don't call yourself an idiot."

"It's easier for us to go to Leicester Square, then to Knightsbridge from there. There's no need for us to do so much train hopping," she explains, showing him the two routes on the map. "I should've figured that out before."

"It doesn't matter if you should've figured it out before, you figured it out now. That's all that matters."

She nods, chewing her lip as she stares at the map. "It was still stupid."

"You're not stupid, stop saying you're stupid."

She watches him from the corner of her eye for a moment before rolling her eyes, then starts towards the entrance to the Northern line.

By the time they reach the platform, the last tube is already taking off, the next one coming in three minutes. Hermione drops into one of the cold metal seats as Malfoy looks around the sparse (well, not really, but sparser than normal) platform, his mouth set in a line.

"Will this train be as busy as the others?"

Hermione rubs her forehead before attempting to run her fingers through her hair. She gives up when she accidentally pulls a bit too hard. "Probably. People will be doing last minute shopping, like us. Or they'll be spending the day with their family, or their friends. It's an incredibly popular time for people to do a day trip to London."

He watches the people around them: the group of girls in their matching coats, huddled together and giggling over something; the couple at the near the end sharing a cupcake; the mother with an iron grip around her child's wrist to keep them from getting too close to the edge.

"Why have they left it so late, do you think?" He asks, turning back to Hermione, who is now smoothing the 99p map out and trying to fold it properly.

"Maybe they didn't have the time. Maybe they haven't been able to find anything, yet." She looks up at him as the platform fills with the noise of the approaching train. "Why did _I _leave it so late?"

"Well, you had school, you couldn't go to a shop."

"Exactly." She drops the neatly folded map into her bag and stands, walking closer to the edge of the platform, just behind the yellow line. "Some people just don't have a choice."

The train pulls in, the doors stopping a foot away from Hermione. Not many people get off, but not many get on, either. The train is full enough, regardless. The doors close, and Hermione reaches up on her tiptoes to be able to take hold of the handle.

"It's the next stop, so don't get too comfortable," she tells him. He nods, watching the tunnel fly past, listening to the rattling of the tube on the tracks. It's very loud, louder than the Hogwarts Express. He wonders if that's because it's in a tunnel.

They get off at Leicester Square, then manage to just barely catch the Piccadilly line train before it leaves (Hermione doesn't know how; they must have sprinted from platform to platform). The four stops are spent in silence, not necessarily because they don't want to talk, more because they don't want to talk around people. Neither one of them wants to be the first one to speak, in case the other doesn't feel like talking.

When they get off at Knightsbridge – along with the approximately fifty million other people who want to be at Knightsbridge – they stand against the wall until the majority of people have left, both of them afraid of being caught in the crush. When there is only two or three other couples trundling towards the exit, they peel themselves from the wall, walking side by side to the exit, their shoulders occasionally brushing against each other.

They walk to Harrods, trying to avoid getting jostled by strangers as they walk down the pavement. Malfoy clears his throat.

"Do you have any idea what you're going to get them?" He asks, sidestepping a man who just decided to stop in the middle of the path.

"My dad likes cufflinks, so I'll see if I can get him some of them. I don't know, for my mum. I'll probably just look around and see what looks nice." As she tries to pass a family taking up the majority of the pavement, one of her feet slips off the kerb, making her stumble. Malfoy grabs her elbow to pull her back onto the path and steady her, and she smiles at him in thanks.

When they enter the far-too-big building that is Harrods, Malfoy struggles to comprehend everything that's happening in there at once. There are so many different stands, so many different colours, all packed just into this one section, with tens of other sections branching out beyond it. He runs his hand through his hair, looking around for a map, a tour guide, anything to help give him just the tiniest sense of direction in this building.

"Where are the cufflinks?" He asks, meekly following Hermione as she weaves through the stands, politely declining every woman who offers her a tester of perfume. She ignores him, winding her way towards a set of escalators. Malfoy looks up, and sees them going for at least three floors. He waits to see if they move, but they don't.

Hermione looks down a list on the wall, her eyes reading each line quickly, before she nods and steps on the escalator going up, and he follows. They go to the second floor, weaving once more through the different sections, until they reach the _Men's Shoes & Accessories_ department. Hermione stands around for a moment, looking into the cabinets, becoming increasingly more fidgety. Her fingertips tap against her sides, she bites her lip, her eyes dart anxiously from glass cabinet to glass cabinet.

"What's wrong?" Malfoy whispers, looking over her shoulder at the displays.

"I can't afford any of this," she whispers back, her eyes wide. "Why is it all so expensive? Who buys this?" She points at a set of cufflinks, each with a large diamond in the centre. "I mean, seriously! Who is going to spend £11,000 on cufflinks!"

Malfoy leans closer to look at the cufflinks she's pointing at. He lets out a whistle. "They are bloody nice, though, you have to admit."

She shakes her head. "It's disgusting."

"Why? If I have the money, why shouldn't I spend it?"

"Because £11,000 is the price of a flat in some places. £11,000 could help feed a lot of people. And instead people choose to spend it on tat like this." Her cheeks grow warm with her anger as she glares at the far-too-expensive cufflinks.

"What about over here?" He points in a different cabinet, at a pair of onyx cufflinks. "These aren't as expensive."

"They're still £3,000." Hermione groans, rubbing her face. "I just wanted to get my dad something nice."

The man behind the counter comes over to them, then. He smiles at Malfoy, and all but ignores Hermione as she stands beside him.

"Good afternoon, sir." His voice is warm, but the kind of warm where you can tell it is practiced and polished. Hermione knows that as soon as they leave this man is going to sneer at their backs. "Can I help you find anything in particular today?"

Malfoy looks to Hermione, who shakes her head at his non-verbal question.

_No, I won't talk, because I feel like even if I do he will direct the answer to you_.

"We were just wondering if you had anything a little bit cheaper?" Malfoy asks. The mans smile doesn't change, but Hermione knows that in his mind he's asking what the bloody hell is someone who can't afford _the best _doing in this shop.

"Of course, sir. Why don't you come around this side of the counter?" The man moves to a different section, and they follow him. He takes out a tray from inside one of the cabinets. "These are some of our…_cheaper _options."

The way he says _cheaper _sounds like the same way someone would say _vomit_. He keeps his plastic fake smile on the whole time.

Hermione ignores it, ignores the hot feeling in her cheeks and her stomach. She looks at the cufflinks on the tray, at the price tags beneath them. She looks at the snake and the eye and the skull. She eventually lands on the last pair on the tray. The cheapest pair. She points at them, swallowing.

"We'll take those, please." Her voice is barely above a whisper. She can see the miniscule change in the man's expression – _oh, so they meant cheap-cheap_ – but he keeps smiling.

"Of course. Would you like a bag?" He takes them off the tray and places them inside a little black box. Hermione's heart thuds as she worries about it costing extra.

"Yes, please."

"The till is over here." They walk to the till, and he tells her the total, still with a smile. She thinks about how empty his eyes look. "That will be £76, please. Would you like a receipt?"

She swallows again. "No, thank you."

"Okay. Have a nice rest of your day!" The man hands her the bag.

"Thank you." She sounds so quiet and meek and it makes her angry. She takes the bag and walks away and she doesn't turn back.

How dare she let this man make her feel bad about herself? She thinks about whether he _actually_ did anything wrong, but she thinks the whole thing is wrong. She has never been _poor_, her family have always been considered as _well off_, but that's because they are very financially aware. They don't spend money willy-nilly, they save up for things and they allow themselves treats every so often, but nothing like _this_. She finds it ridiculous that she is getting so upset about a pair of £76 cufflinks, when it is a luxury to be able to afford even that.

_Rich people are a disease_, she thinks to herself as they pass men trying on watches for £77,000, and shoes for £4,000. She looks over her shoulder to see if Malfoy is following her, and she sees him looking at a pair of shoes that cost £2,000.

_He is rich. He is part of the problem. Don't you remember him bullying Ron for being poor_?

She watches him wrinkle his nose at the shoes, then place them back. He looks up and smiles at her, and he just looks so goofy that even through her anger she can't help but smile back.

_Wouldn't it be nice though_?_ To not have to worry about money_?_ To not have to be financially aware_? _To be able to buy what you want, when you want it_?

He catches up with her, his hands back in his pockets. "You alright?"

"Perfect." She smiles, her cheeks still red.

"What now?"

"They have a Christmas grotto; me and my mum normally look around it together."

"Lead the way."

_Maybe he's not as bad as the rest_.

He smiles at her, and he rolls his eyes as they pass a men's bag priced for £23,000. They both giggle at each other.

_Maybe_.


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**A/N: What's this? Two uploads not a month apart? Who would've thought! As always thank you so much for your continued love and support. I honestly cannot believe that so many people read this :D. I hope you enjoy this chapter (more of a filler than anything, we all know what you _really_ is coming soon... shhh). Also FF is being really weird; all the word counts of my documents keep changing or it changes the document into html/code (I don't know I'm not good at computers). Anyway: I hope you enjoy this chapter of And Malfoy Caught the Snitch! Love, CrazyAsACupcake x**

The fourth floor of Harrods is packed. People are skirting around each other, standing shoulder to shoulder, back to back, in the aisles as they picked up ornaments and toys to show the people they were stood with. Kids run up and down the main aisle, in and out of the Christmas Grotto as they tried to catch glimpses of Father Christmas (which was impossible, but they're children; how would they know?) before running back to their families.

Hermione bounces on the balls of her feet as they look through the entrance of the Christmas Grotto: at the fake snow and icicles hanging from the ceiling; at the blue lights that leave the area with a cold-yet-friendly feeling; at the Harrods workers at their stalls, demonstrating colour changing markers, and remote controlled cars; at the line of people waiting to see Santa. This is probably the only thing she likes about Harrods – at least in this section they aren't trying to rip people off. At least this section is just about the joy of children, not the joy of making rich people richer (although it still is, in a way, just not to the same extent).

She looks up at Malfoy, at the way he's sneering at the children running from demonstration to demonstration, and she laughs.

"What's the matter, Malfoy? Do you not like children?"

"Not in the slightest." A child nearly runs into him and he steps backwards, which makes Hermione snort.

"Why not?" She starts through the section, weaving past a gaggle of children playing with the magic markers. She desperately wants to have a go; she always wanted a set of them, but her parents saw them as a waste.

"They're sticky, rude, scruffy," he sidesteps a child holding her breath while her parents try to coax her out of the store. "They do _that_." He stops by the colour changing markers, his head tilted as he looks at the children drawing. Hermione can see his eyes light up as the white marker causes the other colours to vanish, as the black marker turns pink.

"Would you like to try them, sir?" The woman behind the stall smiles, pulling a blank sheet of paper from the pile beside her. Hermione moves back to his side, her shoulder brushing his arm as they watch the woman demonstrating the pens and how to use them. "There you go," the woman says with a smile, putting the pens in front of him.

He uncaps a red pen and hands it to Hermione, which makes her roll her eyes, but she scribbles a doodle on the page regardless. She draws an apple, using the white to add a shine. Or at least that's what she thought it would do; instead, the red part she draws over turns green.

"Keep going," he smirks, and as she scribbles over the top of the apple, it slowly changes to a dark green colour.

"Ha ha," Hermione says, shoving him.

"Green apples are the best." He takes the red pen from in front of her and writes beside her apple in cursive.

_Green Red – always._

He takes the white pen and strikes through the words, leaving a green streak in the middle of the red.

She scoffs. "You wish."

The woman smiles at them, watching the exchange but pretending not to. "These are on sale today for £11.99 instead of their normal price of £17.95." She points to the sign that is at the front of the stand. "And in the set you get three white pens, eleven colour changing pens – like this red one – and eleven vanishing colour pens."

Malfoy looks at Hermione, and Hermione looks at him.

"Do you want one?" He asks. "I'll buy you one if you do."

"Do you?" Hermione draws absent swirls on the paper, making patterns on the top with the white marker.

"I'm asking you."

"It's your money, you should decide." She scribbles a background and writes her name over the top.

He watches her for a second, then turns to the woman. "We'll take one, please."

The woman grins. "Perfect! Just take it to the counter when you're ready to pay." She hands him an unopened box. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you, too." Malfoy smiles, taking the box from her. "Come on, Granger." He takes her gently by the elbow, walking her away from the table.

"Thank you, and Merry Christmas!" She says, smiling at the woman behind the stall before allowing herself to be pulled away by Malfoy.

She hugs his arm, leaning her head against him. "Thank you, Malfoy," she murmurs against his coat. She kisses his arm, more his coat – which, when after she does it, she realises is such a _weird _thing to do.

"You're welcome, Granger." He smiles, and they make their way through the Christmas Grotto, just before they pass the ornaments. Hermione looks at the baubles as they pass, then stops.

"Look at him," she whispers, pointing at the tiny brown Harrods bear with the string on his head. "He's amazing."

"So, get one."

"I can't. I need to get my mum something, still." She stares at the bear, stroking it's cheek gently with her finger. She turns back to him with a smile. "It doesn't matter."

"You sure?" He asks, frowning. She looks at the crease between his eyebrows, and she wants to smooth it out. She wants to put a kiss right between his eyebrows to see if that will make him stop frowning, to see if it will make his face relax.

He's so much prettier when he's relaxed.

"Positive." She smiles again, and he smiles back, and she notices the dimples on his cheeks. She remembers back to seeing him on the Quidditch pitch the day of the Slytherin/Gryffindor match, how, for the first time in six years, she had actually seen the peaceful side to him.

On the other side of the Grotto, where the tills are, there is a massive display of fluffy bears, which makes Hermione light up. "Look at _him_!"

"I'm looking," Malfoy responds drily.

"Me and my mum love the Harrods bears."

"So _get one_."

"She's probably already got one." She fiddles with his little red waistcoat. "He's great, isn't he?"

"I never would've thought _you _would be into stuff like this, Granger."

"I'm allowed to be smart and serious _and _fun and cute," she snaps. "There's nothing forcing me to be one or the other."

"I didn't say there was, I said I never thought you'd like this."

"Well, I do."

"And that's great."

She looks at the queue at the counter. Despite the floor being absolutely heaving with people, there was barely anyone in line to buy anything. _That's what happens when everything is so heinously overpriced_, she thinks to herself.

"Go pay." She pushes him towards the queue, and he looks back at her.

"With which one?" He pulls his 'wallet' out, looking at the different notes inside.

She leans over his open _coin purse_, chewing the inside of her lip. She pulls out a purple note. "This one." She hands it to him and he nods, joining the queue. She watches as he reaches the front of the line, watches the man behind the till scan the pens, watches as Malfoy hands the note over. She watches as the man slips the box into a bag before he hands Malfoy his change and receipt.

Malfoy walks back over, handing her the bag. "Present."

"Thank you very much, Mister Malfoy," she grins as she takes the bag from him. If they were a couple, or if they were in a movie, they would probably kiss right now. Just a light peck, an affectionate kiss, a kiss full of love and adoration. She wants to kiss him, to say thank you for getting me something I've wanted for so long.

But she doesn't, because they aren't a couple, and they aren't in a movie. They're just two friends Christmas shopping. And it hurts to admit it, but it's true.

"What now, Granger?" He asks, starting out of the section. She pushes her curls out of her face with her right hand, accidentally smacking herself in the face with one of her bags, which makes him laugh.

"My mum's present. Down to the first floor." She chews her lip as she looks at the store map, thinking that there is absolutely no way she will be able to afford to get her mum anything.

He reads the map over her head. "Can we go to third, first?"

"Why?"

"I want to buy your parents a thank you gift, slash Christmas present." He points at where it says _Home_ on the map. "Home accessories make anyone happy."

And so they go down to the third floor, where they wander aisle by aisle, section by section, until Malfoy spots _it_. An XL throw, in deep green. He runs his fingertips across it.

"This is nice," he murmurs, more to himself than Hermione, which doesn't matter because she's more intrigued by a yellow and blue cushion on the other side of the stand. He picks up the bundled throw, turning it in his hands to find the price.

_£399_.

He nods, disappearing to the counter without a second word to Hermione. He stands in the queue with the blanket tucked under his arm, counting the different notes – now that he's looked at them properly he can see the numbers in the corner.

Hermione doesn't notice he's gone until he's already back beside her, tucking the wallet back into his pocket. She sees the large bag in his hand, frowning. He wants to take her face in his hands and kiss her forehead so that she relaxes. He doesn't like it when she frowns, it makes her look meaner than she is.

She's so much prettier when she's relaxed.

"Did you get anything nice?" She asks, nodding to the bag.

"I got them a throw, for the living room or something," he points to the stand behind them.

She looks past him at the blanket. "It's nice." She goes over to one, feeling it in her hands and turning it. Her eyes widen when she sees the price, and she spins around to him in shock. "You spent £400 on it?" She hisses at him, quickly dropping the blanket back on the stand.

"What's wrong with that?" He asks, confused now.

"Do you know how much that is?"

He shrugs.

"That's -" She pauses, doing some mental maths. "That's the equivalent of _eighty-one Galleons_!"

"Oh, okay."

"_Okay_?" She repeats, dumbfounded.

"I had the money for it, what's the problem?"

"That's normally something you spend on your partner, or your family, not your _friend's family_."

"I don't think so." He shakes his head. "If I want to spend it on whoever I want, then I will."

She puts her face in her hands, taking several deep breaths, before pushing her hands through her hair. "Okay. I'm good. It's good."

"You're mad at me."

"I'm not, I just… It's a lot of money."

"A lot of money which I _had_."

She nods, taking one last look at the blanket, not daring to touch it. "It _is _nice. But you should know it won't last that long. Something's going to spill on it, or something like that."

He shrugs. "That's fine."

She rolls her eyes, unable to comprehend how someone can be okay spending £400 on something, knowing there is a high probability that it will be damaged or destroyed one way or another.

"First floor?" He asks, and she nods. He slings his arm around her shoulders, and she leans into him. She likes having him around, like her own personal heater. That, and he's not too bad to look at.

'_Not too bad_' she thinks to herself with a smirk. _Admit it to yourself, Hermione. He's drop-dead gorgeous_.

They step off the escalator into the _Women's Luxury Jewellery _department, once again wandering past counters holding things too expensive for Hermione to even begin to comprehend. She weaves her way past cabinets filled with diamonds and gold and her head begins to ache. She sees a bench (padded leather, of course) by the wall and sits in it for a moment, resting her head in her hands with her eyes closed as she thinks.

Malfoy, however, stands at a cabinet filled with earrings, taking his time looking at each pair before moving on to the next. He looks up and sees Hermione sat by the wall, looking like she's on the verge of a breakdown. He looks back at the earrings in the cabinet, then back at Hermione. The woman behind the counter smiles at him, and he smiles back.

"Would you like some help, sir?" She asks, coming over to the side of the counter he's on.

"Would I be able to have a look at these earrings?" He points at a pair of pink studs near the middle of the tray.

"Certainly," she smiles, pulling the tray from the cabinet. She points at the pink earrings. "These are made by Baccarat, they're gold plated. They're some of our best sellers at the moment."

He nods, looking at the price beside them. "Do you think they're good?"

She laughs. "I couldn't say, sir. Personally, I think they're perfect, especially for someone who doesn't have the time or ability to wear hoop or drop earrings. But, the final decision is down to you. If you think the person you're buying them for will like them, that's what matters."

He thinks for a moment, about when Hermione told him her favourite colour was pink, about when he saw her at the Yule Ball with the blue flower earrings.

"I'll buy them, please," he finally says, pulling his coin purse from his pocket.

"Are they for anyone special?" The woman asks as she slots the earrings in a little black box.

He looks up at Hermione, who is now watching him at the counter with a confused frown.

He smiles. "Yes, they are."

The woman smiles back, imputing the amount into the till. She follows Malfoy's gaze and sees Hermione, who averts her eyes quickly.

"I'm sure she'll love them," the woman says, turning back to Malfoy. "That will be £270, please."

He counts out the cash and hands it to the woman, and she hands him the box, which he drops into the bag with Hermione's parent's new blanket. He thanks the woman, takes his receipt, and walks over to Hermione.

"What did you buy?" Hermione asks when he stops in front of her, one hand in his trouser pocket.

"Just something for my mum."

"Why did she look at me?"

"She asked if I was here alone, and I said '_no she's sat over there, waiting_'." He looks at a map of the store (why are there so many bloody maps?), and points at something. "What about on the ground floor? _Luxury Accessories_. And lower ground floor, too."

Hermione sighs, standing and shoving her hands into her coat pockets. She knows she doesn't look as good with her hands in her pockets as he does.

"I won't be able to afford anything." They walk to the escalators, stepping on the one that goes down. She stands so she's facing him.

"There's no harm in looking."

"It harms my mental wellbeing."

He chucks her under the chin. "Five minutes."

"Fine."

They go to the lower ground floor, and they wander through counters of tat until Hermione sees wallets and purses.

"I probably won't be able to afford one, but my mum has used the same purse for _at least _ten years. I'm surprised it hasn't completely disintegrated at this point." She stands with her hands behind her back, looking into the cabinets, until she finally lights up. "That one," she tells Malfoy, pointing at a long purse in black with gold accents.

"Excuse me?" She says timidly, waiting until a counter staff notices her.

The woman smiles (all these people seem to do is bloody smile) at them. "How can I help you today?"

"Please could I buy this purse?" Hermione points at the black purse.

"Of course." The woman takes the purse out of the cabinet. "Will you need a bag?"

"No, thank you."

The woman scans the tag of the purse and places it on the counter. "That will be £30, please."

Hermione hands over the money, and Malfoy sees how her purse is empty – the notes section, at least. She has £4.40 left in the coin section.

"Would you like the receipt?" The woman asks, handing Hermione the purse.

Hermione thinks for a moment. "Yes, please."

She takes the purse and the receipt with a smile, putting them into the same bag as her dad's cufflinks.

When they exit the lower ground floor, and then the shop, Malfoy asks: "Why did you get a receipt for that and not the cufflinks?"

Hermione smiles. "My dad loves cufflinks. He would never return a set of cufflinks – it's always been a perfect gift. I don't know if my mum will like the purse or not, so it's better to leave the choice up to her."

They get to Knightsbridge, and Hermione stops at the tube map before the barrier. "There's two ways we could get home. We could go from here to Kings Cross and get the 91 bus back, _or_ we go from here to _Finsbury Park_ and get the W7 bus back. The only problem with the Finsbury Park option is we would need to buy other tickets, as these are Zone 1 only. And then on top of that we need to by the bus tickets."

"So the Kings Cross way is better, we'll only need bus tickets."

She nods, chewing her lip. "I don't have enough money for bus tickets."

"I'll buy them." He shrugs, and she looks at him aghast.

"_No_. I'll figure something out."

"Like what?

"I don't know – I'll ask for a half or something."

"Just let me buy them."

"Malfoy, I don't feel comfortable taking money from you."

"Okay then. The bus tickets were £5.80, yeah? How much do you have?"

She pulls her purse out and counts her coins, although she already knows the number. "£4.40."

He pulls his wallet out. "So I'll give you this," he gives her a £5 note and a pound coin. "And I'll take the £4.40."

"Malfoy-" She goes to object but he cuts her off.

"Granger, how do you expect us to get home?" He waits for her to answer, but she doesn't. "Exactly. Stop being proud for a second."

She nods. "We should go," she says quietly, already pulling her ticket from her pocket. "It's already four, I don't know where the time's gone." She's talking to herself, now, not him, and so he follows her silently through the barrier.

They've managed to hit the tube at just the right time – rush hour. People desperate to go home from work, or their hotel, or to a different section of London. Hermione reaches out and grabs tightly onto his hand, their fingers lacing together as if on instinct. It's not romantic, it's a way of saying _I don't want to lose you, so stay close, where I can feel you're beside me_.

The ride to Kings Cross is horrible, with Hermione being jostled more than once as people enter and exit the train. She struggles to keep hold of the railing, too – why does it have to be so high up? – so, at one point, Malfoy just wraps his free arm around her waist to keep hold of her. They end up, in the tight-packed carriage, pressed chest to chest (well, more head to chest, considering how short she is), both of them refusing to look at the other, both of them glowing a brilliant red.

Eventually they hit Kings Cross, and they fall out of the carriage together, taking a full lungful of air for the first time in what seems like a very long time – approximately thirteen minutes. They look at each other, then, and see how red the other one has become from the rather _intimate _position they were put in, and they both burst into laughter, grinning at each other as the tube whistles away from the platform. He offers her his hand, and she takes it, squeezing it gently.

They exit side by side, hand in hand, and get on the bus back to Hermione's street. For the entire 37-minute bus journey they sit with their hands joined, laughing with each other. For a moment, Hermione forgets that they aren't _actually _a couple. For a moment, Hermione imagines what it would be like if she could do this every day. For a moment, Hermione wishes that their lives were simple – that he didn't have a brand on his arm and a task to murder someone she admired.

But he does, and he will, though she doesn't know it yet.

She wishes it was easier.

But it's not.

When they get back to Hermione's house – at just around 5 o'clock – her dad's car is back in it's place in the drive.

Before she even opens the door, she can hear her parents laughing, and several _thuds _on the stairs, followed by her dad shouting: "Oh no!" He doesn't sound annoyed or upset, though, as this is followed by more laughter. She opens the door and pokes her head in, feeling Malfoy looking in over the top of her. Her mum is sitting on a step in the middle of the stairs, tears streaming down her face as she laughs. Her dad is stood at the top, his cheeks bright red. Malfoy smirks, realising this is where she gets it from.

"What's going on?" Hermione asks, letting Malfoy in and shutting the door.

For some reason, this question only makes her parents laugh harder.

"Your mum fell down the stairs!" Her dad splutters, clutching his side.

"I fell down the stairs!" _Jean _shrieks at the same time.

"What were you doing to fall down the stairs?" Hermione asks them both, grinning.

"She was making sure I didn't fall off the ladder." _Paul _replies, coming down the stairs, stopping to help his wife up in her giggly state. "We've got the tree and everything down so we can do it before dinner. We've already moved the chair, too."

Hermione and Malfoy look in the living room, and the chair in front of the window is gone, taken into the garage until after Christmas. The Christmas tree box lays behind the settee, ready to be set up and decorated. _Paul _and _Jean _begin opening the ornament boxes as Hermione and Malfoy watch.

Malfoy frowns. "Where's the tree?"

Hermione points at the box. "There."

"That's a box, not a tree."

"You put it together. It's artificial."

He wrinkles his nose. "Why?"

"It's cheaper, it lasts longer, it helps the environment, it-"

"Okay, I get it." He cuts her off. "Can I put this upstairs?" He holds his bag up and Hermione stares at him.

"You don't need to ask me, just do it."

So, he runs up the stairs, goes into the guest room, and shoves the bag underneath the bed. He doesn't trust Hermione to not go looking for the box, and so he pulls his trunk in front of the bag, meaning it's well hidden. He goes back downstairs and sees Hermione connecting the main pieces of the tree to the stand at the bottom.

"Okay, so," she beckons him over to where she's kneeling. "These colours indicate the colours on the branches. So the orange stickers go here, the yellow ones here, et cetera." She pulls one of the red stickered branches out (the bottom layer), and Malfoy was happy that the actual branches were green and not rainbow coloured. She shows him where the sticker is on the branch, how to fluff the branch out correctly, and how to connect the branch to the tree.

"This seems tedious." He says, pulling one a branch from the box and fluffing it out the way Hermione demonstrated.

"It looks pretty in the end. And we have fun, don't we, mum?"

_Jean _looks up from where she stands beside a stereo, sorting through Christmas CD's. "Oh yeah, we have lots of fun setting the tree up. And then, afterwards, we have hot chocolate and admire our beautiful creation."

Malfoy raises his eyebrows. "I like hot chocolate."

"You only get hot chocolate if you help with the tree." Hermione prods him with the end of one of the branches, and he lets out an exaggerated sigh.

"I guess if it means I get hot chocolate…"

"That's the spirit!" Hermione laughs, just as Mariah Carey's _All I Want for Christmas Is You _fills the room.

The tree decorating takes about two hours, plus intermittent dance breaks to songs Malfoy has never heard before. Hermione begs her mum to let her put tinsel on the tree, but they refuse. They compromise on beads – red and gold, crossing each other over and over around the tree.

They wrap the multicoloured lights around the tree next, then start decorating. _Jean _orders everyone around, telling people where they can and can't put baubles, which baubles need to be displayed at the front and which ones can be relegated to facing the window. About an hour in, _Paul _gives up, and goes to make their tea instead. Hermione can hear him singing along to the Christmas songs from the kitchen.

When the three are finished, they step back to admire their handiwork, each of them smiling at the tree and how it sparkles even in the bright living room. _Jean _pulls the final decoration from the box – a battered old angel, who Malfoy can tell had certainly been loved in the family. It makes him smile, to see something so adored.

Hermione can't reach the top of the tree, so _Jean _calls _Paul _from the kitchen.

"I can't lift her up! My back's bad enough as it is!" He complains.

"Thanks, _dad_!" Hermione fires back, scowling.

"I can lift her." Malfoy chimes in, and the room goes quiet. Even the stereo has chosen this as the good time to load up the next track. "I mean, I probably can. I won't, though, if that's not allowed."

_Paul_ smirks. "Look at him, he's terrified, the poor lad. None of us are going to stop you from lifting her to put the angel on the tree." As Malfoy steps towards Hermione, he adds: "Hands on her waist _only_!"

"Of course, Mr Granger." Malfoy nods, smiling. With both hands on either side of Hermione's waist, he lifts her just high enough to put the angel on the top of the tree.

_Jean _cheers when the angel is finally placed. "Now, hot chocolate!"

When he puts Hermione down, Malfoy pretends to rub his back, and she swats at his arm.

"_Prat_," she hisses.

"Yes, but I'm _your_ prat," he replies, batting his eyes at her.

She can't help but laugh. "Sure, Malfoy."

They drink their hot chocolate as the Christmas songs continue. At first, _Jean _refuses to give _Paul _any hot chocolate, as, in her eyes, he'd barely helped. She finally gives him some when he begins tickling her until she gets the hiccups. After their hot chocolate, they have lasagne (something else Malfoy has never had before, something else Malfoy now enjoys), and he takes a glass of water up to his room.

There are rolls of wrapping paper in a box by the stairs, so he turns to _Jean _and asks if it would be okay if he used one.

She smiles warmly at him. "You don't need to ask. That's what they're there for."

As he retreats upstairs with a roll of blue wrapping paper and some Sellotape (thanks, _Paul_), Hermione turns to her mum.

"Can you do me a favour and I'll pay you back as soon as possible?" She asks.

_Jean _frowns. "What kind of favour?"

"You're going shopping with grandma tonight, aren't you?"

"Yes, we'll be getting all the food for Christmas, like we do every year. Why?"

"If possible, would you be able to find a Walkman? A second hand one would be perfect."

_Jean _leans back in her chair. "Why on earth do you need a Walkman?"

Hermione thinks back to the night in the Room of Requirement, where Malfoy had slipped the _Some Kind of Wonderful_ cassette into his pocket.

"I think it would be a nice present for Malfoy. He likes them."

"How do you know?" _Jean _asks.

"We listened to them, once. He likes _Some Kind of Wonderful_."

_Jean _thinks for a moment, running the tip of her index finger around the rim of her mug. "If I can find a cheap one then okay."

"Thank you," Hermione stands and kisses her mum on the cheek just as she hears Malfoy running downstairs.

"Is there anything to cut the wrapping paper with?" He asks from the doorway.

Hermione takes some scissors from the kitchen and hands them to him. "Don't hurt yourself."

"I won't, don't worry." He starts back upstairs, then remembers something. "How do you use Sellotape?"

She laughs. "I'll show you."

She follows him upstairs, and he gets the Sellotape from his room, then shuts the door behind him so she can't see in.

"Find the end," she runs her nail around the Sellotape and peels the end up. "Get the length you want, cut it, stick it down, repeat until done." She hands him the Sellotape back, then hesitates. "You _have _wrapped presents before, haven't you?"

He scoffs. "Of course I have, Granger. I just normally use magic to do it."

"But you know how to fold the paper…"

"_Yes_, now let me do what I need to do." He takes the Sellotape from her, grabbing her hand and kissing her knuckles gently. "Goodnight, Miss Granger."

"Goodnight, Mister Malfoy."

He slips back into the room, closing the door gently behind him. She stands there for a moment, just staring at the door, before she sighs and goes to her own room. She flops onto her bed, still fully dressed, thinking of all the times today she could have done something – _anything_.

_Gosh, Hermione, for a Gryffindor you really are a coward. _


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**A/N: This is a long one! I had a lot of fun doing this one, so I really hope you enjoy! :D Lots of love, CrazyAsACupcake x**

On Christmas Eve, Hermione wakes up to the sound of something slipping, then someone cursing. She pads over to the door and peers out, her eyes still blurry with sleep. The bathroom door is closed, and she can hear the shower running. Behind the door, Malfoy swears again as he knocks a bottle over, the clattering noise echoing even outside the room.

"Oh, for _fucks sake_!"

She smirks to herself, yawns, and shuts the door behind her again. She lays back down, half on half off the bed as she waits for the shower to turn off. She counts the swirls in the pattern on the ceiling, and wonders how they manage to make the ceiling like that anyway. She doesn't quite fancy the job as the person who decorates the ceilings; she thinks that she'd find it tedious and boring at some point and would end up quitting soon after taking the job.

The shower turns off when she begins thinking about brick laying (would she enjoy being a brick layer? It does seem kind of fun, like Tetris), and soon after that the bathroom door unlocks. She's up like a whippet, back in the doorway, sticking her head out as she watches Malfoy with his embroidered green towel clenched in his right fist, as well as a pair of black pyjama bottoms. It doesn't escape her notice that there isn't a shirt. He runs his left hand through his hair, which has turned a dark blond from the water, and he's scowling to himself. The top couple of buttons of his shirt are undone, and Hermione forces her eyes not to linger there.

His sleeves are rolled up, his bandage not wrapped around his forearm yet.

Hermione forces her eyes not to linger there.

"Morning," she greets from the doorway, giggling to herself when he jumps.

"Merlin, Granger," he breathes, his left hand shooting up and pressing against his chest. "Do you have to be so bloody quiet?"

"Not having a good day then, are we? And it's only quarter to twelve!"

He glares at her, and as she watches him his face softens. He comes to lean against the wall opposite her door, playing with the edge of the fluffy towel as he thinks of what to say.

They go to speak at the same time, laugh, then go to speak again.

"You go," she says, grinning. Her cheeks are already heating up.

"I was going to say 'what's the plan today, Granger?'"

"And _I _was going to say 'here's the plan', so we were both on the right track."

They smile at each other for a second.

"Nice pyjamas." He breaks the silence, smirking as he nods fondly towards her fluffy pink jumper and fluffy blue bottoms.

"_Hey_." She scowls, crossing her arms over her chest. "_Anyway_, my parent's will be getting home at about five today, and then we'll watch a few movies, play some boardgames, and get ready for Christmas."

"What do we do _before_ five?"

"We could…" She pauses. She hadn't thought about that. She racks her brain, thinking of anything they can do to pass the time before her parents come home. She remembers something he'd mentioned, the day of his meltdown in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"We could have that baking competition, if you'd like." As soon as she says it, his eyes begin to sparkle. His lips part as he grins, and she finds her attention drawn, for a second, to how sharp his canines are. He would make the perfect vampire with fangs like those (which makes her dark-romance loving heart burn).

"Oh, Granger, you are going _down_."

"You can't be _that _good at baking."

"I'm an amazing baker."

"So prove it."

"I will." He turns with one final smirk, then returns to his room, the green towel slung over his shoulder as he goes.

She takes her stuff into the bathroom with her, giving herself a _look _in the mirror – a _look _that says _Hermione Jean Granger if you let this ignorant blond git beat you in a baking competition in your own house, I will kill you myself._

She showers quickly, and when she gets out, she pulls her hair back into a ponytail, smoothing her hair back so that it isn't as wild as it normally is. She wraps not one, not two, but _three _bobbles around the ponytail so that the strands aren't tempted to try and wriggle free. She dresses in loose, comfortable clothing, and goes to leave the bathroom, opening the door to see Malfoy leaning against the doorjamb. She yelps, clutching her pyjamas and towel to her chest as he smirks.

"Jesus, Malfoy!" She snaps, glaring at him.

"Consider it payback, Granger."

"You drive me mad."

"Mad with love, I presume?"

"Absolutely _not_." She throws her clothes into the washing basket. "Why are you always dressed up?"

"Is it a crime to want to look good?" He frowns, eyes sparkling. She hates when his eyes sparkle. She hates it because she can't force herself to look away from them.

"I just don't see the point." She glances at him, at his white shirt and black dress pants. "They're just going to get ruined when we're baking."

"So are your clothes," he points out, starting past her down the stairs. "I'm just going to look better."

"So humble of you, Malfoy." She rolls her eyes at the back of his head. When he gets to the bottom of the stairs, he turns to look at her, and she stays stood on the second step from the bottom.

"Wow, Granger - you're finally the height of a normal person!" He tilts his head with a smile and she goes for his shoulder. He laughs and raises his arm to block it, the sleeve still rolled up, the bandage still not applied.

She stops.

He doesn't notice, or he does and he just doesn't care anymore. "Breakfast?"

She nods, swallowing. "Yeah. Breakfast would be good."

The kitchen is fuller than it was when they had gone to bed. There are piles with bread rolls and fruits and cakes and crisps and anything else that doesn't need to go in the fridge, which is another story. The fridge is full to bursting – meats, drinks, vegetables, platters, Christmas puddings, and things that have been shoved to the back, hidden by everything else.

They both stare for a moment, cataloguing it, Hermione thinking about how amazing Christmas dinner and supper would be, Malfoy thinking about how different this would be from Christmas at the Manor or Hogwarts.

"I'm not sure what we're allowed to touch," Hermione admits, gingerly trying to sift through the pile on the counter without knocking anything off.

"Is anything open? We'll be able to eat whatever's open, surely."

She looks in the bread bin, and sure enough there is half a loaf of bread there. "Toast?"

"Toast is good." He leans against the counter, his arms folded.

"You're doing it again."

"What?"

"_Leaning_."

"Is that a problem, Granger?" His eyes sparkle once more, and she has to force herself to look back at the fridge. She begins opening each of the three butters, trying to find the one that has already been used.

"You'll have bad posture."

He makes a _psht_ noise. "_Please_, Granger. Me? Bad posture?" He stands straight, doing a spin. "Look at this posture. Posture of a _god_."

She laughs, shaking her head at him. "Whatever you say, Malfoy. But it won't last if you keep leaning on everything you see."

"I'll lean if I want to, Granger, and you can't bloody stop me." As if to prove his point, he leans back against the counter as she scowls at him.

The toast pops up and she butters two of the four slices before jumping up onto the counter to enjoy them. He frowns at her.

"What?" She asks, making sure to swallow her toast first. "You think I'm going to do them for you?"

"You did yours." He points at the toast in her hand.

"You're a grown man, Malfoy. You can butter your own toast."

He huffs, pushing away from the counter to stand on her left side, picking the knife back up and buttering his own toast.

"I just thought if you're going to do yours you might as well do mine," he grumbles to himself, folding one slice in half and taking a bite.

"I'm not your mum, Malfoy, you can do your own food."

"Never said you were my mother, Granger. I don't really want you to be my mother."

She eyes him. "I thought you'd love the idea of me cleaning up after you and fixing your dinner."

"You don't need to be my mother to do that."

They stare at each other for a second, both of them holding their toast inches from their mouths. He breaks first, his face splitting in a toothy grin. He finishes his toast, brushes the crumbs from his hands, and turns back to the piles of food.

"We can't use any of this."

She shakes her head.

"So we go buy our own stuff then."

She chews thoughtfully on her last bite. "I have no money."

"I do."

"Why would I let you buy it?" She frowns, rubbing her hands on her jogging bottoms. He stands over her, his hands are against the counter on either side of her as he leans towards her, so that they're almost nose to nose. She feels caged in, but not in a bad way. It almost feels safe. She could lean in and just peck him right now, but she's afraid in case her breath smells of toast, or she kisses him wrong.

"Because then, when I win, you can pay me back." He smirks at her, and she watches the colours swirl in his eyes. His beautiful, sparkling grey eyes that seem to hold the universe. She wants to place her hands either side of his face and press the tip of her nose against his so that she can just gaze into his eyes and count the colours that shift inside them.

"You're not going to win, Malfoy." Her voice comes out quieter and scratchier than she intended, and it only makes his smirk widen.

"Of course I am. You can't be good at _everything_."

"Well, I am. So there."

He laughs, pushing off from the counter and away from her. She wants to reach out and grasp the back of his shirt with her fingers and pull him back towards her. Instead, she just smiles at him, pushing everything deep into the pit of her stomach.

"Shall we go then?" He runs his left hand through his hair, and she gets a full view of that horrid tattoo.

Her smile evaporates. "Yeah." She blinks, shaking her head to snap herself out of whatever she's thinking. "Yeah, lets go."

They don't take their coats, it's surprisingly not too bad, and they're only going to the corner shop and back, so they don't really see the need for them. He walks with his hands in his pockets (of course) and his shoulders back, an impish smirk on his face. She walks with her hands clasped behind her, kicking tiny stones on the path every so often.

"What're you thinking about?" He asks.

She shrugs, chewing on her lip. "What are _you _thinking about?"

He answers quickly. "I miss my broom. Normally Christmas time is a good time to go flying and get some practice in."

"I miss Harry and Ron," she admits, feeling slightly guilty. She hopes he won't take offence.

He doesn't. Instead he nods. "I get that. I miss Pansy and that lot, too."

She sighs, her breath a cloud in front of her. "I think Ginny might tell them."

He shakes his head. "She won't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I may not like her but I know enough to know that she isn't the sort of person who would do that."

"Ginny would do anything for Harry, whether she'll admit it or not. That's probably the only reason she got with Dean in the first place."

"To get Potter's attention?" He frowns, looking at her.

She laughs. "Probably. Her and Dean are always arguing. I think she only got with him because Harry wasn't interested."

He laughs, now. "Poor mini Weasley, forever unnoticed by the one her heart dotes on."

She bumps him with her shoulder. "Stop it, it's quite sad when you think about it. Ginny would defend him to the ends of the earth and he's… Well, he's Harry, about the whole thing. Completely oblivious, blind to what's right in front of him." She holds the door to the corner shop open for him. "I mean, she waited so long for him to ask her to the Yule Ball, and he just…didn't."

"But she was still there? I remember seeing her." He lets her walk in front of her and he follows her through the aisles of the shop.

"Neville asked her, and they had a great time. But I just don't see why Harry didn't notice her." She stops, and he nearly walks into her. "We should've got a basket." They walk back to the front of the shop.

"He didn't notice _you _either," he says as he hands her a red basket.

"You don't need to point it out," she huffs, glaring at him. They weave back through the aisles to where the baking ingredients are, and she starts putting bags of flour and sugar into the basket.

"Why didn't she just ask him instead?" Malfoy asks, picking up tiny bottles of food colouring and flavouring.

"Why do you need lemon flavouring?" She wrinkles her nose as he drops them into the basket.

"Because I think it tastes nice."

"She was in third year, she had to be invited by someone from fourth year. She couldn't have asked him." She looks at the different coloured cupcake cases, picking up a box of pink and purple ones. "Which cases do you want?"

"The green ones. I would've invited her." He laughs when Hermione rolls her eyes, dropping the green cases into the basket. They move over to the fridges and he picks up some unsalted butter.

"No you bloody wouldn't have."

"You're right, I wouldn't. Just let me have my moment."

"She would've said no, anyway. You know she hates you."

"You could've convinced her."

"Not in fourth year, I couldn't have. And I wouldn't have, either. You were a git."

"Ah, so I'm not anymore?"

"Oh, you absolutely are. This is you being a git."

They go to the till, and the sullen looking boy behind the counter starts scanning the items and placing them into a bag. Malfoy hands Hermione a £20 note, which she pays with, thanking the cashier and taking the bag.

"What if I'd asked _you _to the ball?" He asks, taking the bag from her hand as they start back home.

"I would've said _no_, like any sane person."

"What if I asked you now?"

"Then I'd say no, like any sane person."

He pushes her. "No need to be mean. I'd say yes if you asked me."

She laughs. "No you bloody wouldn't."

"Yes I bloody would."

"Well, it's a good thing for the both of us that there isn't a ball, isn't it? Now we're both spared of the embarrassment."

They walk in silence for a while, side by side, occasionally smiling at each other. With his left hand in his pocket, he swings the bag back and forth in time with their steps. Her arms are loose by her sides, and so he removes his hand from his pocket, and takes her right hand in his left. She freezes, and he can feel the goose bumps on her skin. He rubs his thumb against the back of her hand.

He leans in, his lips almost, but not quite touching the top of her ear. "Are you ready to lose at a baking competition, Granger?"

She pulls away from him, still keeping tight hold of his hand. "I'm _not _going to lose, Malfoy."

"When was the last time you baked something?"

She thinks for a moment. It can't have been that long ago, surely. "It was for my mum's birthday. In second year."

He whistles. "Four years?"

"Well, when was the last time _you _baked anything?"

"I baked with my mother, over the summer," he smirks at her. "Just after my father was sent to Azkaban. Before He came to stay." Malfoy pauses, just for a second. "Honestly, Granger. You think I spend my every one of my days plotting?"

"I didn't think you _baked_."

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying baking. You put the work in and you get a prize at the end."

"It's not really a prize, you made it. It's not that you're being given something for making it."

"_I _think it's a prize."

"Only because everything you do is a competition."

"And?" He leans against the wall of her house as she unlocks the front door. "Life is much more fun when you're playing to win."

"How aren't you stressed all the time?" She wonders aloud, pushing the door open for him. He bows his head in thanks with a smirk as he enters, ducking under her arm.

"Who said I wasn't, Granger? That's why it's great to win."

"Yeah, well you're not going to. I won't let you." She shuts the door behind her, kicking her shoes off and turning off the alarm.

He smirks at her, leaning against the door jamb. "Let the games begin."

For the next hour and a half (or there about), they work around each other in the kitchen, hiding sugar packets from each other or shielding their own bowls to stop the other from seeing the process. When Hermione isn't looking – when she's frowning at the recipe book in front of her – Malfoy's hand darts out, and he sticks his finger into the batter before putting it in his mouth. She whips around, eyes blazing.

"Stop cheating!" She shouts, doing the same thing to him. When she sticks her finger in her mouth, she frowns. "Wait…" She tastes hers. "Yours is different."

"I'm following a different recipe. The mix doesn't matter, the end result does." He opens his box of green cupcake cases, looking around for the cupcake pan. "Where's your baking tray?"

"Oh!" She goes into the cupboard, and he hears the sound of metal falling over. She comes out and hands him a 12-cup muffin pan. "We only have the one, so you can go first."

She watches him spooning the batter evenly into the cupcake cases, pouting when he scrapes the bowl clean.

"What?" He asks, shooing her out of the way of the dishwasher (fascinating thing, that is!) so he can place his things in.

"You didn't lick the bowl."

"I'm not ten, Granger," he laughs, shutting the dishwasher door. "And they need to all be equal if I'm going to win."

"Oh, so they're all going to be copies?" She smirks. "Mine are going to have personality. _That's_ what's going to help _me _win."

"You hate it when things aren't to the letter."

"Cakes are different. They're cakes."

He shakes his head, laughing. "I hope you still have that attitude when they come out all hodgepodge." He picks up the muffin pan, sliding it onto the top shelf of the oven. "Twenty minutes, starting..." He closes the oven door. "_Now_."

Twenty minutes passes a lot slower when you're _waiting_ for something and not _doing _something. They stand in the kitchen and watch the clock, and occasionally Malfoy kicks Hermione gently in the shin just for a bit of fun. After fifteen minutes, he stretches (_don't look at how his shirt is pulling from his trousers, Hermione_!) and sits down on the floor with his back against one of the cupboard doors.

She gawks at him.

"What now?" He squints up at her, the sun shining through the kitchen window right in his eyes. She is perfectly silhouetted by it, and he can't help but think that she looks like an angel, like that, with her halo of sunshine around her head.

"Why are you sitting on the floor?"

"Why not?"

"It might be dirty; you're going to ruin your trousers."

"Ooh, you care about my trousers, Granger?" He grins up at her, running a hand through his hair as he jokingly bites his lip.

Jokingly.

_Stop it_, Hermione curses him in her head. Then she curses herself as she feels her cheeks and her ears burn, her stomach twisting itself as she stares at him like an idiot.

_It's not even that attractive_! _He's just biting his lip, you bite yours all the time_!

She gently kicks him in the side, which makes him grin wider.

"You're not denying it," he sings, which earns him another kick. Or, at least an attempted kick. When she lifts her foot, he grabs her ankle, which knocks her off balance. She falls, her landing softened by Malfoy's legs.

"_Ow_!" They both shout at the same time, before bursting into giggles.

"Get _off_," he groans, smiling, pushing her off him, rubbing his shins. "Merlin, Granger, try not to cripple me next time."

"You're fine, big baby." She stands, rubbing the backs of her thighs. "If you hadn't grabbed my foot it wouldn't have happened."

"I didn't grab your foot," he points out as he stand up, shaking his legs out one at a time. "I grabbed your ankle."

"Turn around."

"What, so you can stare at my arse?" He wiggles his brows at her with a smirk.

"So I can see if your trousers are dirty, you pervert."

He does a little spin, grinning at her over his shoulder. "Like what you see?"

"You're covered in dust."

He hurriedly rubs the back of his trousers, which is humorous, considering he didn't actually have any dust on him. It just looks like he's rubbing his own arse, making him look quite – as Hermione's cousins would say – 'tapped'. He turns back to her, stretching his arms up over his head as he yawns. He checks the clock above the counter and groans, dropping his head back so his throat is exposed.

"Why is this taking so long?" He moans, running his hands through his hair. He peers into the oven through the glass.

"Because you're impatient." She looks at the clock behind her. "You've only got another three minutes, if you care so much just take them out now.

He lets out a bark of laughter. "If I took them out _now_ they'd be ruined."

"You're so dramatic."

He scowls at her before looking back at the clock. "Do you have a cooling rack?"

She frowns. "A what?"

"I'll take that as a no then. Can I have a plate?"

She gets him a large plate while she shakes her head. "Honestly, I thought your parents wouldn't have let you near a kitchen."

"My mother loves to cook, and my father loves the things my mother cooks for him. I used to follow her around and she'd let me do little things for her, to keep me out of the way." He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes flickering back to the clock. "Baking is calming, and I enjoy sweet things."

"That must be why you enjoy spending time with me," Hermione teases, reaching over to him and pinching his cheek.

"You're the least sweet thing I've ever encountered, Granger," he grins at her. "Oven gloves?"

She passes him a set of pink and white checked oven gloves and he takes his cakes out, putting his ear close to the cakes in the pan.

"What're you doing?"

"If they're making noise then they aren't ready," he places the tray on the counter, pressing the centre of one of the cakes with the tip of his finger. His smile grows when the top of the cake puffs back up. He carefully removes the cupcakes one by one from the pan, organising them on the plate so they can cool down in time for the icing.

As he removes the final one, his finger touches the hot metal and he hisses, sticking his finger into his mouth.

"Put it under the water, not in your mouth!" Hermione shouts, running the cold tap and pulling his finger out of his mouth. "Surely you would know _that_ if you spend so much time in the kitchen."

"It's _fine_, Granger, it was just a shock."

They stand over the sink, Hermione's hand over his, his red finger under the water.

"You can let go, you know."

"I know."

Eventually she does, but only when she feels as though his hand has been in the cold water for long enough. She puts her own pink and purple cases into the tray (making sure it alternates: pink, purple, pink, purple, and so on) and spoons her own mixture in as Malfoy had done half an hour before. She runs her finger around the inside of the mixing bowl, eating the leftover batter before she puts the cakes in the oven.

And then they wait.

Again.

Occasionally kicking each other.

Occasionally stretching (and occasionally averting eyes away from shirts pulling against lean, muscled stomachs).

Occasionally looking at each other, not saying anything, and just beginning to smirk for no reason.

The next twenty minutes end, and Hermione takes her cakes out of the oven, her eyes widening.

"Oh no!"

Malfoy looks up from studying his bitten nails, and pulls a face at the cakes. "Merlin, Granger, what did you do?"

"Did I bake them for too long?"

"Did you bake them for long _enough_?"

The cupcakes in question have, for lack of a better word, imploded. The centres of the cakes dip down into the middles, making them all look sad – though nowhere near as sad as the girl holding them.

Malfoy leans over them, listening intently. "They aren't making any noise."

"Why do they look like that?" She whines, placing them onto the counter beside her bowl. Malfoy pokes one, and it half-heartedly inflates (inflates back into its sunken hole, that is).

"They're fully done," he frowns as he wipes his hands on his trousers. "Did you do anything wrong?"

Hermione's eyes start to flicker with anger. "_Me_? Doing something wrong? How could you even _insinuate_-"

He holds his hands up, his eyes wide. "Okay, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. Read the ingredients to me."

She lifts her book from where it sits open on the counter, and begins listing the ingredients for him. "175 grams of butter, 175 grams of self-raising flour, 175 grams of caster sugar, 1 tablespoon of baking powder, 3 eggs-"

"One _tablespoon_?" He cuts her off, his frown deepening in confusion.

"Yeah, '_1 tsp_'." She turns the book around so he can see it, and he takes it from her, scanning the ingredients list.

"That's _teaspoon_."

"What?"

"_Tsp_ is _teaspoon_. _Tablespoon_ is _tbsp_ – did you put a _tablespoon _of baking powder in there?"

"I thought that's what it was!"

"I thought you never made mistakes!"

"Why couldn't they have just wrote the word out?" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at her miserable cupcakes.

"Because most people know shorthand. _You _write in shorthand." He starts removing her cakes from the pan for her, placing them onto her own plate. "You can't change it, now. It was a mistake, not the end of the world. You've just got to make the best of it."

"You've won anyway, now. There's no point."

"You don't know what they taste like. They might look a bit… They might look a bit defeated, but they might taste amazing. And remember, it's all up to your parents."

She sighs, rubbing her arms. "I _really _wanted to beat you."

"And you might." He finishes removing her cakes and moves towards her, putting his lips near her ear. "_But you won't_."

"I'm just going to have to prove you wrong, aren't I?"

He shrugs, smiling. "You can try."

They wait for another half an hour, playing a game of slaps as they wait for Hermione's cakes to cool enough to start the icing; Hermione says it's unfair that his cakes got half an hour of cooling time and hers deserve the same time. Malfoy argues that by the time hers have had thirty minutes, his will have had sixty, so no matter what it's unfair.

They are both equally bad at slaps, Hermione maybe more so. She flinches nearly every time they put their hands together, finger tips touching, anticipating his move, and every time she flinches he gets a free slap. He's gentle, at first, holding her hands in place and just barely tapping them. He gets more aggressive every time, never going out of his way to hurt her, but trying to give her some incentive to not flinch before he makes his move. _Eventually _Hermione moves her hands at the right time, grinning an evil grin at him, and soon Malfoy is the one flinching at every non-existent movement, giving Hermione her chance for payback. She is far more brutal with the free slap than he was, but what can he expect from a girl who had once smacked him full in the face.

They go back and forth like this for a while, sometimes Malfoy is winning, sometimes Hermione is – though neither of them really knows what 'winning' is in this game. By the time the thirty minutes are up, they're both shaking their hands out from the stinging pain of being slapped so many times, but they both have smiles on their faces, and that's all that matters.

Malfoy, with his baking god-ishness, makes lemon buttercream icing, using food colouring to make it stand out a bright neon yellow.

Hermione, with her lack of baking god-ishness, mixes icing sugar with water until it's the right consistency (she thinks), using food colouring to try and make it red. It turns a light pink, and she isn't surprised.

Malfoy uses a knife to ice his cakes, making sure each cake has an equal amount of icing on as he smooths it out.

Hermione dips her sorry excuses for cupcakes into the icing – the same way she had seem someone on a baking show do once, years ago. It doesn't work, with their sad deflation in the middle, so she ends up having to spoon it on top of each one.

Hermione scowls at his finished plate compared to hers. "It's not even in the same ballpark."

Malfoy doesn't know what that means, but he chooses not to ask. "And?"

"And that means you'll win."

"I thought you didn't care about winning?"

"I do when it's against you."

He laughs, scooping some leftover buttercream from his bowl and eating it. "You always win against me, let me have _one _thing."

"I am letting you have it, that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it."

He pats her head condescendingly. "There, there, Granger. You'll be back beating me in lessons soon."

She glares up at him, and he grins down at her. And she can't help it. She can't help her face relaxing and her lips twitching upwards and her eyes creasing in the corners. She can't help but smile at him when he smiles at her.

He looks at the clock. "Five to five."

"They'll be home soon."

"Perfect, then they can judge." He grins, taking his plate of cakes and putting them on the dining table. He runs his finger on the edge of the icing bowl again and sticks it in his mouth. "Here." He picks up the last of the icing on his finger and holds it out to her.

She stares at it. "That's just been in your mouth."

"What, are you scared of a bit of spit, Granger?"

She rolls her eyes, grabbing his hand as she sneers at him. She tentatively licks the icing from his finger, cringing and pulling away almost immediately.

"I hate lemon," she admits, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.

"Then why didn't you just say that; you didn't need to eat it."

She shrugs and he rolls his eyes, smirking at her. He sticks his finger back into his mouth.

They clean the kitchen and turn on the dishwasher before going into the living room. Malfoy drops into the chair that hadn't been moved, one leg draped over the arm. Hermione can feel the back of her neck burning up as she looks at him. He runs a hand through his hair, and she sees the black tattoo once more.

"My parents will be home soon," she says.

"I'm aware."

"You might want to cover that up."

He looks at his arm, his face blank and his eyes empty. He sneers, rolling his eyes before he pushes himself up. "I'll be right back."

He disappears upstairs and she can hear the door to the guest bedroom opening. She sits on the edge of the chair he's just left, shivering in her thin shirt. She wonders if she should go get a cardigan. After a debate with herself, she decides to, going up to her room and rooting through her wardrobe for something warm, finally deciding to wear Malfoy's green Quidditch jumper. She picks it up from where it sits at the end of her bed, and she inhales the weakening scent of Malfoy before slipping it over her head.

When she turns to go back downstairs, Malfoy is stood in the doorway, staring at her. She freezes. She doesn't know how long he's been stood there – if he saw her smelling the jumper. She begins to quickly look around her room in her mind.

_Did I leave a bra out_?_ What about my clean clothes – did I put them away_?_ I didn't make my bed_.

He smiles gently at her from the doorway. "Are you cold?"

"Aren't you? It's freezing."

He holds the bandage up. "You said you knew how to tie one properly."

She stares at him, for a second, before realising what he's asking without actually asking it. "Oh, yes, I do."

He smiles, handing her the bandage. They sit on the top of the stairs and she takes her forearm in her lap, gently wrapping it in the bandage. She wants to run her fingers down it. As ugly as it is, she finds herself drawn to it, and she thinks it might be because it's a part of him.

She manages to finish wrapping it up without touching it, and instead she rubs her thumbs in circles over the top of the bandage. When she looks up, he's watching her.

"You look nice in that, Granger. I should've brought mine. We could've matched."

She scoffs. "Oh, yeah, and you would've beaten me there too, wouldn't you?"

"It's not my fault I look stunning in green."

"Gorgeous," she corrects, standing up.

"You think I'm gorgeous, Granger?" He grins up at her before using the bannister to pull himself up.

"_No_." (_Yes_.) "If you'd said '_gorgeous in green_', it would have sounded better."

"Both ways are true," he says, leaning against the bannister with his arms crossed. Hermione has to stop herself from pulling him away, stop herself thinking of it collapsing under him.

Instead, she laughs, and starts down the stairs. "Again, you're so humble."

"I'm aware."

The front door opens as they enter the living room, and _Paul _and _Jean _come in, shaking their wet coats out before hanging them up beside the door.

"Is it raining?" Hermione asks, frowning.

_Paul _nods, taking his jumper off and throwing it over the back of the settee. "Horribly. Started just as we were about to come home."

_Jean_ waves at Hermione, beckoning her upstairs. Hermione follows timidly – though she doesn't know why. Her mum doesn't have any reason to be mad at her.

_Jean _pulls a small black box from her handbag and hands it to Hermione. "You owe me £50."

Hermione takes the top off the box, and inside is a Walkman, complete with a set of orange headphones. Hermione's face lights up as she stares at it inside its fancy silk bed (obviously not it's original packaging).

"Thank you, thank you so much, mum." Hermione grabs her mum in a hug, squeezing her tightly.

"We bought some green wrapping paper, and some green ribbon too. We thought he'd like that."

Hermione laughs, hugging her mum again. Suddenly, she is hit by a wave of sadness. For some reason, she knows that this is the last Christmas she will spend with her family, and no matter how hard she tries to tell herself that she's wrong, she can't shake the feeling that this will never happen again.

She breathes in the scent of her mum – the clinical sterile smell of the Dentist Practice still in her hair, on her clothes, but underneath that the warm, comforting smell of her mother. She doesn't ever want to forget that smell, however when she pulls away, she feels herself already struggling to remember.

She puts the black box containing the Walkman on her bed, before going back downstairs to find her dad and Malfoy stood over the two plates on the dining table.

"I told him about the competition," Malfoy says, and she nods, watching her dad for his reaction. He swaps between looking at Malfoy's plate, to Hermione's, and then back again.

"What happened?" _Paul_ asks after a moment, pointing at her plate. "Why do they look so…" He tries to think of the right word, but can't.

"They might still taste nice," she says quickly, her eyes flickering to Malfoy's smirking face. "Don't take them at face value."

"Well, at face value, his look better."

"Thank you, sir," Malfoy grins, his arms crossed.

"Don't thank me yet, that doesn't mean you've won." _Paul_ stops him, as if he can already feel Malfoy's ego inflating. "Get your mum then we can decide."

"'_Get your mum_' for what?" _Jean _asks, coming to stand by Hermione's shoulder in the doorway.

"They decided to have a baking competition while we were at work," _Paul _fills her in. "Based on what they look like – without knowing which plate is which – what do you think?"

_Jean _goes closer to the table, pursing her lips as she looks over the cakes. "Well I can _assume _which plate is Draco's." Malfoy's cheeks tinge pink. "What happened to these?" _Jean _points at Hermione's cakes. "They look so…"

"We know." The other three say in near perfect unison: Malfoy and Paul smirking, and Hermione stewing with her arms crossed.

"So we'll start with these then?" _Paul _points at Malfoy's cupcakes, with their perfect domed tops and even layer of neon yellow lemon buttercream. Both of Hermione's parents pick one up, and Malfoy notices how they unwrap them differently: _Jean _pulls down the corner of the case, so she's able to bite one side of it, while _Paul_ removes the case completely. Malfoy has always thought you could tell a lot about a person from the way they eat cakes.

"Malfoy's have lemon buttercream!" Hermione blurts just before they take their first bite. _Jean _pulls a face, and Malfoy glares at Hermione.

"You're a saboteur!" He points at her in mock anger.

"My mum doesn't like lemon, either!" Hermione smirks triumphantly at him.

"I can still eat the cake part," _Jean _points out, breaking a piece off from the bottom of the cake and eating it. She nods, satisfied. _Paul_ takes a large bite, buttercream and all, and when he swallows it he goes back for another.

"Very soft," _Paul _says through a mouthful. "Fluffy."

"Thank you, sir," Malfoy beams, glancing at Hermione from the corner of his eye and raising his brows at her.

"Very good. Ten out of ten."

"I don't think I can give a score, considering I didn't have the whole cake." _Jean _places the dejected cake top (inside it's case) onto the table.

"I understand. Thank you, Mrs Granger," Malfoy smiles at her, his hands clasped innocently behind his back.

"He's only being polite to butter you up," Hermione glares at him. "That's cheating, he should be disqualified."

"Disqualified from a competition _you _made up?" _Paul _asks, turning to Hermione's plate. He pulls a face. "You just don't want to lose."

"Of course I don't want to lose – _especially _not to a cheater."

"Is it really cheating to be nice?" Malfoy asks, his brows tilting upwards as the corners of his lips droop.

"You're _never _nice, don't fall for his _I'm so sad _act!"

Malfoy grins. "Why are you getting so worked up, Granger? Is it because you know I'll win?"

She scowls at him, crossing her arms and watching as _Paul _picks up a cake with a purple case.

"Where'd you get the jumper from, Hermione?" Her dad asks, looking at the green and silver as if it's the first time he's noticed it.

"Oh, it's Malfoy's," she replies, watching as her dad frowns.

"When she came to watch me practice flying once she got cold, so I gave her it. She just never gave it back," Malfoy adds.

"Because you never _asked_."

"Why don't you use each other's first names?" _Jean _asks, peeling away a corner of the case.

"Habit," Hermione says, and Malfoy nods. "It would be weird to call him his first name after six years of referring to him by his last."

"Have you ever thought about dying your hair, Draco?" _Paul _asks, holding the cake in his hand. Malfoy frowns, now confused.

Hermione gasps. "You're just putting off trying my cake, aren't you!"

_Paul_ holds up the cake in his hadn. "Look at it. Can you blame me?"

Hermione picks one up angrily. "It doesn't taste as bad as it looks – _look_!" She takes the case off and takes a large bite of the cake, and Malfoy watches as her face shifts instantly. She chews for a moment, before spitting the chewed-up cake into her hand, grimacing. He pours her a glass of water and goes to hand it to her, before just holding it straight to her lips. She takes one, two, three gulps of water to wash away the taste, and when she's done she goes to the bin to drop her cake in.

"Malfoy wins," she says reluctantly, washing her hands under the sink. She can feel her parents sighs of relief.

"Movie time?" _Paul _asks, dropping the cake discretely into the bin. _Jean _nods, putting both of hers in the bin before following him into the living room.

Malfoy claps her on the shoulder. "Good game, Granger. Next time you'll beat me. I just know it."

She smiles at him, wiping her hands on the tea towel beside the sink. "Congratulations, Mister Malfoy."

"Thank you, Miss Granger."

For a moment, they stand there, her looking up at him and him down at her. She plays with the tea towel in her hands, not taking her eyes off his.

She wishes they had more time – despite not knowing how much they have. She wishes she could tell him everything in her head: how she can't stop thinking about his eyes and the way they sparkle when she smiles at him; how she can forget her mothers smell almost immediately but she feels drugged by the smell of his French cologne and his apples, a smell she doesn't know if she'll ever forget; how she just wants to grab his face between her hands and press her lips against his – harsh or soft, she doesn't care – and tangle her fingers in his hair. She wishes _he _would make a move, if only to stop her from worrying about whether or not it's a good idea. She wishes he would give her _some idea_ of whether he feels the same way – and the hand holding doesn't count, she holds hands with Ginny all the time.

_Paul _shouts them from the living room, and they break eye contact. Malfoy takes a step away from her and she wants to scream: _don't move away, I like it when you're next to me and I can see the colours swirling in your eyes_.

She doesn't, though.

She just watches him go and drop into the chair in the living room. She watches him laughing with her dad, and the way her mum smiles fondly at him. She wants to go over and press a kiss against the back of his head.

She doesn't.

She goes and sits cross legged on the floor as her dad starts the movie (_The Nightmare Before Christmas_ – at least this year she doesn't have to deal with the annual debate of is it a Halloween movie or a Christmas movie). About five minutes in he throws a bar of chocolate at her head, so she turns and glares at him while rubbing her head. She picks up the Dairy Milk bar from behind her, and as she turns back to the television she sees Malfoy frowning, his jaw set. His eyes flicker from her dad to her, and his face softens.

"_You okay_?" He mouths at her, and she nods, smiling.

He slides onto the floor beside her, and she breaks off a piece of chocolate to give to him. He opens his mouth, and so she places the tiny square on his tongue, pulling her hand back as he bites for her fingers. She leans her head against his shoulder, inhaling that intoxicating scent and feeling it make her brain go fuzzy.

Malfoy, clearly, has no idea what happens in the movie, but he seems to enjoy the music. His favourite is, apparently, _Kidnap the Sandy Claws_ – from the way he hums the tune to himself through the rest of the movie, and the way that it's the only song he pays full attention to.

At the end of the movie, after her parents have gone into the kitchen, Hermione asks him what his favourite part was. He takes a while to think about it before he answers, leaning back on his hands. He uncrosses his legs to stretch them out.

"I liked the scene at the end. Where he goes to save Santa from the green guy."

"Mr Oogie Boogie," she corrects, pushing her hair out of her face.

"Yeah, him. And I liked the opening, where they sang about Halloween. It was very well done."

"It's all stop motion." She stretches her arms over her head. Malfoy frowns at her. "Basically, the characters are puppets, and every time they move, someone is moving them a tiny fraction, then taking a picture. Then they move them a bit more, then take another picture. And when you play them really fast, it makes it look like the character's moving."

"Do they do that for all movies?"

"No, just this one. Animation is done in a similar way though – they have to draw each frame to make it move. This one just uses puppets instead of drawings."

He nods, fascinated. "Muggles really are smart, aren't they?"

"And _they _have to do it all without magic, too."

_Jean _comes out of the kitchen holding a tea towel. "For dinner, we're doing party food, so sandwiches, crisps and cake, basically." She looks at them both. "What do you want in your sandwiches?"

"Ham, please." Hermione responds.

Malfoy looks at her, then back to _Jean_. "The same, please."

_Jean _nods, then goes back into the kitchen. They can hear her and _Paul _laughing and talking with each other.

Hermione stretches again, looking at the tree as it twinkles in multicolours. "It's nearly Christmas, Malfoy," she murmurs, leaning her head against his shoulder. He smiles, watching the tree with her, and he leans his head on top of hers.

_Jean _comes out with two plates, each with a sandwich and a packet of plain crisps. She looks into the kitchen at the clock above the counter. "I don't think we'll have time for karaoke, but we can do that tomorrow when grandma's here. If you get Monopoly set up we can play after dinner."

Hermione nods, already taking a bite out of her sandwich.

"Why does your dad say tea, but your mum says dinner?" Malfoy asks, eyeing the packet of crisps suspiciously.

"Because my dad's northern and my mum's not."

"And your grandma's coming?"

"She lives alone, so it's nice for her to come round and spend Christmas with us. My Auntie will probably come round at some point, too."

"What's Monopoly?"

"Are you just too scared to try the crisps?"

"Maybe."

She picks up her own packet and shakes it vigorously before opening it. "They just taste of salt." She puts one in her mouth, chewing it while watching him. "Try one."

He scowls, but takes one out of her packet anyway. When he tastes it he wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. "No. Don't like that."

She laughs, covering her mouth with her hand, and he wants to pull it out of the way so that he can see her smile.

"Eat your sandwich," she tells him, folding her crisp packet up before standing. She goes to the cabinet near the door to the kitchen and pulls out a box, setting up the contents on the coffee table behind Malfoy.

"What's this?" Malfoy asks through a mouthful of sandwich, turning to watch her counting the coloured slips of paper out into piles.

"Don't you know it's rude to talk with your mouth full?"

He glares at her, swallowing his bite of sandwich. "What is it?"

"It's a boardgame." She places the Scottie Dog on the _Go _square, then shows him the rest of the tokens. "Which do you want to be?"

"What if I want to be the dog?"

"I'm the dog."

"I like it."

"Pick a different one."

He sighs, looking at all of the pieces in her hands and finally settling on the Boot. Hermione's parents come in from the kitchen; _Paul_ picks the Racecar, _Jean _picks the Thimble.

After a quick run through of the rules, they start the game, and Malfoy is not surprised to learn that _Paul _and _Jean _are both equally competitive as Hermione. He tries to keep up, but suddenly there are little houses being placed on the board, and just when he thinks he's gotten the hang of it, the prices on everyone else's properties sky rocket. In just over two hours he is left with one property mortgaged, the other three sold in an attempt to try and get more money, and he is basically just trundling around the board hoping to pass _Go_ before he lands on someone's property.

The final blow comes as he lands on Hermione's Mayfair – the tile _just _before _Go_ – which costs him £1400 (damn her and her three houses!), which is obviously money he doesn't have. He declares bankruptcy after managing to only give her £437, and sits back with his arms crossed as the other three count their money to determine the winner.

Thanks to Malfoy's £437, Hermione wins, but only just. She flings her arms in the air with a giant grin on her face, and she turns to Malfoy and hugs him.

"Thank you, Mister Malfoy," she whispers to him. When she pulls away, she laughs. "Without you, I would've lost."

"At least we both won at least once today, Granger." He smiles fondly at her, and she smiles back, her cheeks turning pink.

_Jean _goes to get something, two presents she had wrapped quickly while she was upstairs earlier. _Paul_ puts the game away and looks at the clock in the kitchen.

"It's nearly ten, kiddies." _Paul_ yawns, scratching his chin. "When you go to bed, you don't come out until morning, Santa might see you. And _don't _wake me before nine tomorrow."

They nod as _Jean _comes into the room, holding the soft packages. "Here you go, Hermione." She hands her the one on the top, and Hermione unwraps it quickly, tearing through the wrapping with glee. Inside is a set of red, white, and black flannel pyjamas; a button up long sleeve shirt with long bottoms. As Hermione feels the soft fabric between her fingers, her eyes fall on the gold embroidered _H.G._ on the pocket on the left breast of the shirt.

"Personalised. Only took them ten minutes." _Paul_ perches on the arm of the sofa. "We're not going to lie, we only got them today."

Malfoy looks over her shoulder at them, and she turns to show him. "What for? Christmas is tomorrow?"

"They're Christmas Eve pyjamas – so you can either wear them tonight or put them on fresh in the morning." She explains, folding the shirt back up and beaming at her mum. "Thank you. They're perfect."

"And this ones for you, Draco." _Jean_ leans forward to hand him the second parcel.

He takes it from her gingerly, unwrapping it with more grace than Hermione had. Inside is a matching set to hers, except in green instead of red. Over the left breast pocket, the initials _D.M._ stand out in silver. He stares at the initials until his eyes begin to blur.

He looks up to see _Jean _and Hermione both smiling at him. "Thank you. Very much." He looks back down. "You didn't need to."

"Nonsense. Everyone needs new pyjamas on Christmas Eve." _Jean _smiles at him. "Now," she claps her hands on her legs. "Bed time."

"Mum, do you know where the wrapping paper is?" Hermione asks.

"It's in our room, with the ribbon too." She answers, and Hermione smiles in response. "Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight." Hermione hugs her parents, hit again by that feeling that this will be their last Christmas – her last Christmas Eve pyjamas, her last Christmas Eve board game.

"Goodnight, Paul. And goodnight, Jean." Malfoy doesn't hug them, because that would be awkward. He holds the pyjamas awkwardly.

"Goodnight, Draco." _Jean _says fondly, touching his arm. He hopes he doesn't feel the way he stiffens.

"Night, lad." _Paul _nods at him, and he nods back.

Malfoy and Hermione go upstairs, and he can feel the excitement radiating off her.

"Do you still have the Sellotape?" She asks when they reach the landing, and he nods going into his room to get it for her.

"Should I take my presents down now?" He asks, and she nods.

"Just put them under the tree."

He runs downstairs quickly, and Hermione goes into her parent's room to get the green wrapping. She also sneaks into the guest room to get the roll of blue wrapping paper and the scissors Malfoy had been using. She sees his green towel folded on top of the chest of drawers and smiles when she thinks of that morning – was it really just that morning?

When she turns to go, he's stood in the doorway.

"You're not supposed to be in here," he points out, though the drawl in his voice shows he doesn't really care.

"I realised I needed the blue wrapping paper. And the scissors." She holds them up awkwardly.

"Okay."

"Well…" She scoots past him on the way back to her room. "Goodnight, Malfoy. See you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Granger. See you in the morning." He closes the door behind him.

She sits on the floor of her bedroom and lovingly wraps the black box containing the Walkman, wrapping the green ribbon around it and tying it into a neat bow. When she's finished wrapping her parents presents, she leaves them in a little pile on her desk, and gets ready in her new pyjamas, before crawling into bed, hoping to fall asleep to dreams of hot chocolate and Christmas dinner.

She doesn't.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**A/N: Hi guys! It's been a while! I'm really sorry it's been so long D: I'm back at university now, so I don't have as much time as I did to write, so to get back in the swing of things I have a shorter chapter for you :). Thank you again for all the reviews and the follows and favourites! They mean the world for me! Thank you all for waiting, as well! I hope you enjoy :D Love, CrazyAsACupcake x  
**

Draco Malfoy can't fall asleep.

Not for lack of trying, of course. He lays on his back in the dead centre of the double bed, on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. One hand rests against his abdomen, feeling it rising and falling as he breathes. The lights are off, the room almost in complete darkness save for some light leaking through the gap in the curtains.

He thinks one of the reasons he can't sleep is it's so bloody hot. For some reason, every night in this room he has been too warm to even think – and the radiators aren't even turned on. He's laying there in his brand new green pyjama bottoms, ditching the shirt in the hopes that it will help his body cool down at least a little bit. He shifts his arms, so he's now resting his head on his right arm. He can feel the top of his back, the base of his neck, hot and sticky with the warm air in the room.

He moves his arm, suddenly hyperaware of the feeling of the bedsheets against his clammy skin. He tries to close his eyes again, tries to stop himself thinking of anything (which isn't difficult with the temperature).

He hears the door open quietly, the sort of door opening that happens when someone doesn't want other people to realise they're opening a door.

He sits up, propping himself up on his elbows as he squints into the doorway. His eyes begin to burn; they had adjusted to the darkness of the room, and all of a sudden there was light coming directly at them.

In the doorway, Hermione stands as a shadow, perfectly silhouetted by the light streaming through the window above the stairs. She's clutching a bear in front of her, cradling it in both arms. Her hair is wild about her, and he can't see her face but he can tell it's probably not good.

"Morning," he greets warily, looking at the digital clock on top of the dresser. "It's nice to see you at two in the morning."

"Sorry," she whispers, her head bent as she watches her feet.

He frowns at her. "Don't apologise." He shuffles over on the bed so he's nearly pressed against the wall. "Come in. And shut the door."

So she does. She closes the door behind her, dropping the room into darkness once more, and she goes and perches on the very edge of the bed.

"What's wrong?" He asks, letting himself fall back to laying on his back.

"I had a bad dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

She pauses, then nods. He waits for her to start, and before she does, she lays on her back beside him, her bear still held close to her chest. He watches her as she watches the ceiling, and he can see the tear marks on her cheeks.

"There's a lot," she begins. "I'm going to sound completely crazy."

"Take as long as you need. I don't have anywhere to be." He looks back at the ceiling so that she doesn't feel pressured by him looking at her. He is aware that he is laying next to her without his shirt on, and he thinks about going to get it, but then remembers that would involve climbing over her, which would be ten times worse than laying next to her without his shirt.

"I don't know where to start."

"The beginning is normally a good place."

She sighs, rubbing the bears ears between her fingertips. "I was in a house – at least I think it was a house. It had dark wooden floors and high arched ceilings. It wasn't a very welcoming house."

He frowns. The Manor had dark wooden floors and high arched ceilings, and he had always considered the Manor welcoming. It wasn't _homey_, but it wasn't evil.

"I was on the floor. On my back. There was a fireplace at one end, towards my feet, and a long table at the other. I think there were people stood near it, two or three of them, but I couldn't see them very clearly," she continues, her voice rough from crying.

"How can you see the table if you're on your back?" He asks, but she ignores him.

"She was there, standing over me. The crazy one."

"Who?"

"Bellatrix. The one who tortured Neville's parents. The one who killed Sirius Black."

Malfoy feels his blood run cold.

"She started screaming at me about something. She was asking how I got _it_ and _it _was meant to be in her vault in Gringotts. I was crying and I was telling her I didn't know, but she didn't believe me."

"What did she do?" He asks, turning to look at her. She is still staring at the ceiling, silent tears flowing and falling into her hair as it lays spread out on the pillow.

"She pulled out her wand, and she _Crucio_-ed me. And I could _feel _it," her voice breaks. "I could _feel _every one of my nerves setting on fire and dying, each of them lighting up until all I could see was white. I could _feel _my body trying to tear itself apart. I could feel the way it made my body go completely rigid, my back arched so much that I can see the table at the end of the room." She looks at him, then. "_That's _how I could see it."

He doesn't say anything. He just watches the way she licks her lips, the way she takes a deep, rattling breath, the way she blinks slowly to clear her tears away.

"I could see the people stood by the table, the way one of them turned away from what was happening. I don't know who they were – there was nothing defining about them. They were just blobs." She swallows, counting the swirls on the ceiling as she takes another breath. "She stopped and I thought it was over, but it wasn't. She climbed on top of me – straddled me so she was sitting on my stomach – and she grabbed my arm and she hissed something in my face; I couldn't make out what she said. And then she hunched over my arm and I felt her doing something, felt her tearing at my skin and carving into it and I heard myself screaming. I felt like my throat was ripping apart with that scream."

She pauses, hiccupping as she tries to think of what to say next. "Then she got off me and she left me alone – I heard her shouting at someone else – and I turned to look at my arm, which was wet. It was wet and slick and it was all so _real_ I thought it would be there when I woke up?" She doesn't know why it comes out as a question.

"Thought _what _would be there?"

"The word. The word on my arm," she closes her eyes, seeing the word again in the darkness behind her closed lids. "On my arm, she'd taken a knife and carved – in these massive capital letters – _MUDBLOOD_. The cuts were so deep and so ragged that in my mind I knew it would scar and I'd be left with this deformed brand."

"But it wasn't real. She didn't carve anything into your arm."

"It felt real," she whispers, opening her eyes and glancing at him.

"It wasn't." He grabs her hand on the bed, squeezing it tightly. "This is real. You're safe."

"I think it might've been an omen," she turns towards him, rolling onto her right shoulder. "Things are going to change soon, one way or another."

"I won't let anything happen to you."

"I don't need you to protect me."

He smiles slightly, averting his eyes from hers. "I know. But sometimes it's nice to know you have someone looking out for you, as well as yourself." He rolls onto his left shoulder, so now they're face to face, nose to nose, inches from each other. He looks into her eyes, thinking of honey and autumn and chocolate and anything and everything else you can associate that mixture of brown and orange with. Most of all he thinks of comfort, and how comfortable he is to be with her.

How he thinks he'll never find that comfort anywhere else.

She licks her lips, opening her mouth to speak. She closes it, thinks for a moment, then speaks. "Sometimes I don't know what to think about you."

He frowns, tucking his left hand beneath his cheek. "What do you mean?"

"Just over a month ago we hated each other and now you're in my house."

"You invited me here."

"I know," she sighs, looking away for a second. "Sometimes I think I'm too trusting. Sometimes I think you might be using me."

"For what?"

"I don't know; _something_."

"Trust me, Granger. There are better people to _use _for my bidding – people who aren't smart enough to figure out I'm using them."

She smiles, wiping her face with her hand, turning slightly in towards her arm. She's stopped crying, the nightmare still alive in her mind, but for some reason seeing him – having him here – has taking most of the fear away. She can see the writhing black tattoo on his arm, and instead of looking away, she places her left hand over the top of it, feeling his muscles tense beneath her fingers.

He swallows, and she looks back up to his face, which – surprisingly – is not twisted in self-hatred. She is once again hit with that image of him on the Quidditch field the day of the match: his face tilted towards the rain, his hair a dark blond, his skin smooth without a frown or a smirk or a sneer. He lays beside her (shirtless, but she pretends not to notice) with the same calmness upon his face.

Even his dimples are showing. She wants to poke them with her fingertip, the little dents in his cheeks. Her mother calls them _kisses_, though she never really knew why. Her mother used to say that it's because it's a part you only let people you truly love see. Hermione used to wonder whether that was why _she _didn't have dimples, because she didn't love anyone enough to show them.

Without looking down, she traces her finger absently in circles around his arm, watching the corners of his lips twitch as she tickles him lightly with her nail.

When she thinks about it, she is watching his lips a lot, in this moment. The way they slightly part as he smirks, the way he opens his mouth to say something, but instead choses to lightly bite on his lower lip. Why does he do that? And why does it make her face feel so bloody hot?

She watches his lips as he says her name.

"Granger…"

She likes the way her name looks on his lips, the softness with which he says it. She wishes he would say her _real _name, so that she could see what _Hermione _would look like.

She imagines it would be just as good, if not better.

"Granger."

She looks up at him, at his eyes, which shimmer and sparkle even in the darkness. She looks up further, at his downy soft hair, and she takes her hand from his arm and moves it to his hair. She runs her fingers through it, brushing it out of his eyes – his _eyes_; eyes that hold the universe. She takes her hand from his hair (which immediately falls back in front of his eyes) and places it on his cheek, and she watches as his eyes drift closed, as he ever so slightly leans into her palm.

"Granger…"

He says her name like he's afraid he'll break it. Maybe he will.

Maybe she'll let him.

"Malfoy," she responds, prompting him to say anything _other _than her name, trying to make him stop her from doing what she knows she's going to do. She takes her other hand and cups his other cheek, watching his eyes flutter open.

He places a hand on her cheek, stroking gently with his thumb, and her skin prickles, electrified.

He smirks, and she watches his lips again as one corner quirks upwards. "I don't know what to say, now."

"Me neither."

"Do you want me to say something?"

"I don't know."

They stare at each other for a moment, in silence, just caressing each other's faces in the dark.

"Malfoy…"

"Granger."

She doesn't realise that they've been leaning towards each other. Her nose is now touching his. They're close enough to place their foreheads together, if they wanted to.

She can feel his breath on her skin.

"I think I might be going mad," she whispers, looking into his eyes again. This close to him, she can pinpoint every different galaxy, every star, every sun and sky and cloud that is captured inside his universe of greys and blues.

This close to her he can see every tree shedding it's leaves, every cup of hot chocolate in front of a fire, every jumper and mug of tea and walk through the woods that is captured inside her comforting world of browns and ambers.

"You know what, Granger?" He murmurs, nudging her nose out of the way with his own.

"What?"

"I think I might be, too."


	30. Chapter Thirty

_Finally._


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

She can feel his eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. The hand that was cupping her cheek has moved to her hair, his fingers loosely entwining themselves there – not enough to hurt, but enough to say _you're real, this is real_. Her own fingers push through his hair, just below his ears.

He can feel her nose against his cheek. He takes his other hand – the one not in her hair – and places it on her right cheek, pulling her closer towards him, if that's possible.

Her bear is squashed between them, but they don't seem to notice, or if they do they just don't care.

She tastes like strawberries.

He tastes like peppermint.

Somehow they work together, though neither of them can say how, or why.

They don't know who moves away first, just that they don't want them to. When they finally break, Hermione wants to reach straight back out and kiss him again.

She wants to kiss him again and again and again, until kissing Draco Malfoy is the only thing she can remember how to do.

Malfoy smiles, his eyes closed. He takes a breath. He's scared to open his eyes, in case he's just made the entire thing up – in case it was just an elaborate dream. Finally, he does.

And she doesn't disappear.

She doesn't disintegrate.

She's there. In his hands. Smiling shyly at him, her cheeks flushed, her lips red.

He exhales.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do that."

She laughs, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I might."

"Then why the fuck did we take so long?"

She laughs again, faking a frown. "Don't be so crude, Malfoy."

"I'll be as crude as I want to be," he smirks, brushing some of her curls out of her eyes. "Fuck, fuck, fuck _fuck fu_-"

He can't complete his last one, as Hermione has pressed her lips against his once again. He feels his eyes close, feels every muscle in his body relax. He smiles into the kiss, and he feels her doing the same.

When they pull apart, she revels in his glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes.

He grins at her. "Merlin, Granger, if that's my punishment for swearing then I might start doing it all the time."

"That's not my name," she murmurs without thinking, running her fingers through the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

"I know."

"So why do you still call me it?"

"Because as far as I'm aware, I'm the only one who calls you that." He thinks for a second. "To your face at least. If I called you Hermione, it would just be another voice in the crowd, drowned out by Potty-"

"Harry."

"- and the Weasel-"

"Ron."

"- so I know that if I call you _Granger_," he smirks as he says it. "It means you'll focus on me. It means I'm the loudest because I'm different."

"But everyone calls you Malfoy."

"So you call me Draco."

"I don't think that's fair," she frowns. "If I'm using your name you should use mine. And it's not like we're going to be saying it in front of people, are we? In our lessons and in the corridor you will still be _Malfoy_. But I don't see why in this room, where no one can hear us, we have to go by this silly rule you've created."

He thinks for a moment, then nods. "You're right. From hence forth, you shall be known as Hermione."

Her heart flutters as he says it. She wants him to keep saying it over and over and over, like jammed tape or a broken record.

He smiles at her, and she smiles back, her entire body feeling like it's about to burst into flames. He leans towards her again, then frowns over her shoulder. It's half past 4.

"I should probably…" She mumbles, unlatching her arms from around him, once again remembering he's shirtless when her fingertips brush against his bare shoulders.

"Probably best," he agrees, sitting up on the bed and stretching. She sits up and swings her legs over the side of the bed.

"See you in a bit." They both stand, and Malfoy watches her go to the door. Just before she touches the handle, she spins around towards him, flinging her arms back around his neck and kissing him with a heart full of joy.

He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her towards him and never wanting to let her go. When she's happy with that parting kiss, he holds her close, pressing his face into the crook of her neck (which is awkward when you're a foot taller than them).

"Goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Draco."

She slips out of the room and back to her bedroom, and it only _really _hits her when she's gotten herself tucked in.

_I kissed Draco Malfoy._ _And he kissed me back. And he admitted that he's wanted to do it for a long time._

She falls asleep with a smile, and the dreams of Bellatrix's curses don't return.

Instead she dreams of Malfoy, laying next to her on a beach, where he turns to her and says:

_If you could be anywhere, would you be there with me? _

And, of course, she says yes.


End file.
